Freefall
by FarenMaddox
Summary: AU. The stories of the Tsubasa gang and the xxxHolic characters and a few others play out in modern-day San Fransisco. There are muggings, motorcycles, memory loss, and mayhem. Canon pairings as I see them! Further description inside. COMPLETED.
1. Chapter 1

_An Explanation of This Story, So You Will Be Slightly Less Confused and Terrified By It:_

_So, I love CLAMP. I love them a lot. And what CLAMP fan can really resist the urge to imagine their characters in your own reality? Basically, this story is my answer to the question of what Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles would look like if it was without magic and taking place right down the street. Well, that and xxxHOLiC, which is obviously connected. Plus I couldn't resist bringing Chi and Hideki along for the ride. Well, them and Kobato and Fujimoto . . ._

_I just kind of went nuts, okay? But there are some really important things you need to know before you begin this story. This story started out as simply trying to reinterpret the story into modern reality terms, explaining how events would happen without magic or time travel, etc. Which made me have to leave out Fang Wang Reed. Which is awesome, because my story does not suffer by lacking Butt Chin._

_Since there was no evil mastermind, I felt a little more free with my interpretation of events. Then it just sort of evolved into a grand, angsty mess full of crossover character goodness. These are totally AU versions of the characters, despite the fact that they still behave in (I hope) the way they do in CLAMP's stories. For instance: Ioryogi is neither a spirit nor a talking plushie. He's an actual person. Also, Fai is not a magician. In fact, Fai is not "Fai," and Ioryogi is not "Ioryogi."_

_The reason? Well, this story is set in San Francisco. While trying to imagine a bunch of high school/college students, people who live in our actual reality, I had trouble thinking of them with crazy manga names. So I gave them names that they, as Americans, would be more likely to have. **I have a LiveJournal entry that offers an explanation for most name choices****, should you need it. I almost always spent an agonizing amount of time making sure the name fit the character. I'm not going to give you a list of the changes, because you should recognize each character pretty quickly. Like I said, they still behave in the same way._

_Worried yet? Don't be. You're about to dive straight into a sea of angst! Your first KuroFai moment is only minutes away! Ready, set, go!_

_**Follow this link (without punctuation instead of words, you know how it goes): faren-maddox (dot) livejournal (dot) com (slash) 32740 (dot) html_

* * *

Chapter One

_January 13th, 2010_

Lee stared down at the blank sheet of notebook paper, which had been mocking him with its emptiness for ten minutes. He was not happy. He didn't want to write this essay, didn't even know where to begin. He looked around the room, seeking a distraction, and found the new teacher staring right back at him. He returned his eyes to his paper and scowled while the rest of the class was happily scribbling away. Substitute teachers really sucked.

English just had to be the class that he was alone for, the only one of the day that he didn't share with his brother, his neighbour, or both. If it was Sara, he could have wasted the period watching her write her essay and appreciating the shine of her hair. If it was his brother, he would have known exactly what Lee's problem was and would have faked an asthma attack to get them both out of it.

Instead . . .

A shadow crossed his desk, utterly clear against the bright light of the afternoon sun reflecting off the snow outside the window. Yeah, snow. It was all over the news today, like it was the second coming of Jesus. He looked up to find that the substitute teacher was standing in front of him, tilting her head to see his blank paper and causing a veritable waterfall of blond hair to spill over her shoulder. He blushed, scowled, and didn't say a word.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't realize it was such a difficult subject for you. You may choose another topic, if it's uncomfortable."

He shrugged, not looking up. "It's not uncomfortable, exactly, just . . . complicated."

"That's all right," she said, her voice still kind and soft. "I'm not really judging you on the content of your essay. It's only that I'm teaching your English class for several weeks, and I wanted to try to get to know all of you as quickly as I can. The topic 'home' is one that I thought would help with that. You can really write about anything, because home means something different to everybody."

And _really_ different, to him, Lee thought, although he didn't say it.

She seemed to understand, somehow. "You know what I would write about, if it were my essay? I think home is a smell, and a feeling. My mother used to bake bread while I was at school, and I'd come home to the smell, and she'd always have some that wasn't finished yet. I loved kneading the dough, working at her side, the elastic feel on my hands. My mother died two years ago, and I'm very happy in the apartment I share with my boyfriend, but it's only when I bake a loaf of bread that I feel absolutely at home. So you see, your essay is very much up to you. What you choose to write about, that's what's going to tell me the most about you—not the way you write it or if it's 'normal.' Okay?"

Lee finally looked up at her, and smiled. Maybe Miss Elda wasn't so bad. She seemed like she would be the type to accept anything he told her, graciously. It wasn't like anything about his home life was wrong or bad, either. Other people tried to tell him it was, but all they were really saying was that it was different. And different didn't have to be wrong. He finally started to write.

_Home isn't exactly a place for me, at least not anymore. Home is the people who matter to me. When my parents were alive, I probably would have described our house as "home," but things have been very different since they died last year, and everything, including the definition of that word, has changed for me. Technically, home is a small apartment next to the university, but it wouldn't be if not for the people I share it with._

_Home is Caleb, who always acts grouchy but is there anytime we need him. He pretends he doesn't like it here, since the only reason he came to this university is that his girlfriend said they needed some time apart, but I know he secretly doesn't mind it anymore. He's on his second year of a baseball scholarship. He'll kill you if you make fun of him for being a Gator, but part of knowing I'm home is when I find a mitt or a jersey just laying around the apartment. I admire him for how hard he works, for himself and for the rest of us. He never complains._

_Home is also Finn, who's— well, Finn is Finn. He's special. And by special I mean completely insane. He's the oldest, he's getting his master's degree in something or other that has to do with medieval English history, and I think he must be fluent in Old English because he starts speaking it to bug Caleb whenever Caleb gets really grouchy. I also think he lives entirely on pudding snacks and cheap rum. He doesn't really sleep, either, he's often __still__ awake studying when we all get up in the morning. He's extremely loud and cheerful, whenever he's not studying. He might be crazy, but he's always been really kind, too._

_I think someday home might mean my neighbour, Sara. She's smart and gorgeous and very kind-hearted. She lives with her brother, Tom, who thinks I'm a bad influence on her or something. But Tom's boyfriend Yuri likes me, so Tom lets us stay friends. Sara is— something to think about when I'm older, I guess, but I __hope__ Sara means home. If that makes any sense._

_No matter what, no matter who comes in or out of our lives, home will most of all and always be my brother Averil. We're twins, but we always say I must be the older brother. I feel like I've been looking out for him ever since we were little kids. He's got a few health problems, so that's probably why I started being really protective of him. Last year, when our parents died, I was the one who tried to take charge to figure out what we should do. He's taken everything really hard, since then, so I try to look out for him as much as I can. He's my twin, and that makes him a part of me in a way that no one else really can be. I wouldn't call anyplace home, if Averil wasn't with me._

The bell rang, and Lee looked down at his desk in amazement, rubbing his cramped fingers. He'd been writing steadily ever since Miss Elda had come over to talk to him. She was collecting papers from people while they were streaming out the classroom door, but Lee hesitated, shouldering his bag and trying to decide. He didn't know if he really wanted to give it to her. She'd ask all the awkward questions that Lee usually avoided by just not talking about home. It was hard to explain his living arrangements. Teenaged orphan twins sharing an apartment with two slightly insane university students, next door to a gay university student and his sister . . . It was kind of hard to explain why this wasn't as weird as it sounded, or why Lee was happy this way. But he'd rather not take a zero for the day, so he steeled himself and marched forward to hand over the pencil-smudged page of writing.

Next was physics, which had both Averil and Sara, and definitely wouldn't include uncomfortable essay topics. Lee practically skipped down the hall to get to that class.

* * *

The three teenagers were nearly home, walking side by side and chattering happily about classes and homework. Sara was especially cheerful, since she was thrilled about the first snowfall ever in her lifetime, and Lee was happy that she was happy. He'd been worried about her recently. She seemed tired. And even though she would never admit to it, she kept getting headaches. He was learning to recognize it when she ran her fingers over her forehead, as though to wipe away the pain.

Right now, she was laughing at something Ril had said, and she was cupping a handful of snow in her hands. Lee couldn't stop looking at her. It just made her more beautiful, that she didn't know how beautiful she was. Then something smacked Lee on the back of the head, and he turned around, spreading his arms protectively in front of Averil and Sara on either side of him. He gasped as something very cold slithered down the back of his neck. Snow.

"Snowball fight!" he heard a voice crow, and there was Finn, dashing down the sidewalk toward them with another snowball already held in his gloved hands.

"You scared the _crap_ out of me!" Averil hollered, but Lee had a snowball of his own packed and ready in the blink of an eye, which Finn saw. He whooped with glee and darted backward, hiding behind Caleb. Caleb just stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and looked back over his shoulder to glare at Finn, who was peeking his face out at Lee with a smug expression.

Lee had to admit, Caleb made a pretty good shield. Finn was tall, but Caleb was taller, and he was all muscle and broad shoulders, too, whereas Finn was so skinny you couldn't see him if he turned sideways. But Lee just grinned and threw the snowball anyway, counting on Caleb to understand. He did. He pivoted on one leg and turned himself aside so that the projectile hit Finn right in the middle of his chest, snow sliding right into the V created by the half-buttoned blue coat he wore and cutting him off mid-giggle.

Suddenly, they were all involved, and snow was flying in every direction. Sara was laughing and letting Lee shield her so she could throw a surprisingly wicked curveball from behind him. Averil had no idea how to pack a snowball properly, but the shower of snow created by his throw blinded Lee long enough for Averil to tackle him and shove his back into a snowbank, shouting triumphantly.

Lee twisted under his brother and bucked him off, anxious that he should be up and gallantly defending Sara from Finn. Caleb threw snowballs like he threw baseballs, so he probably wouldn't target Sara at all in case he hurt her. In fact, Caleb was pretty much only fighting with Finn, who was avoiding the possible pain by launching himself onto Caleb's shoulders like he was about to get a piggyback ride. Sara was just standing back and laughing, until she saw Lee back on his feet, trying to wipe the sludge from his favourite green jacket. Then she stepped forward, a shy, sweet smile on her face that transfixed him—and shoved a handful of snow down his shirt. He shouted in shock (not entirely unpleasant) and she ran toward the shelter of their apartment building with a peal of laughter.

He considered chasing her, but turned to help Averil get up instead, frowning with concern. They looked so different that people often refused to believe they were brothers at all, much less twins—but no one could deny that they had grown up together, not when Lee was able to pick up on the tiniest cue Averil gave him. One hand was dusting the snow from his black hair with seeming nonchalance, but Averil had the other hand down at his side in a fist. There was a smile on his face, but his lips were parted oddly.

Finn looked only too eager to keep up the game, but Lee knew the language his brother was using, and quickly threw an arm over his shoulders. "Come on, we'd better get inside and do our homework—we've got tons."

Averil hated making anyone worry about him. Although he wasn't above faking it to help Lee with something, he never wanted anyone to know when he was having a real asthma attack. He didn't want to spoil Finn's fun, but he didn't want to asphyxiate on the slushy sidewalk, either. So he let Lee lead him inside, where he could sit down and use his inhaler without worrying their roommates.

Well, they really did have a lot of homework, anyway.

* * *

Finn obviously didn't think he noticed. It was almost enough to make Caleb punch him for stupidity. Usually, Finn was good at hiding, those blue eyes sparkling with laughter at something only he thought was funny. But when he thought no one was looking, he was different.

He'd been watching the twins closely enough to see the same thing Caleb saw, that Averil put his fist down to say something to Lee, and Lee had understood and pulled his brother out of their fight. It was probably asthma, the kid was so dumb about thinking it would bother them or something. Caleb figured he'd give the twins their privacy, make sure they didn't think they'd ruined anyone's fun, so he indulged Finn's antics for a minute longer. But Finn's efforts to cover him in snow had immediately turned half-hearted. The eyes that followed the movements of those boys weren't merry anymore, they'd gone intense with a stark pain—Caleb was probably the only one who'd even believe Finn was capable of feeling _anything_ that deeply, much less pain. But he saw it, and he knew. Finn had lost someone as dear to him as those boys were to one another.

But he'd be mortified if he knew that Caleb knew. He did such a good job of covering it up, most of the time. So . . .

"I can't believe they don't think we notice that shit," he grunted, brushing the snow off his clothes.

Finn snapped out of it and turned around with his trademark stunningly bright smile. "But there's no harm in letting them keep thinking it, right Cal?"

As always, Caleb couldn't help but growl a protest. He really, really hated it when Finn shortened his name. But even that was a compromise. When they'd first ended up sharing an apartment (and Caleb was never going to forgive the apartment manager Yvonne for engineering it), Finn had refused to call him anything but "Hot Shot" for weeks, until Caleb had snapped. Of course, shoving his new roommate up against a wall and shouting at him just made the blond idiot laugh, so Caleb had to resort to threats against Finn's liquor stash. Finn had switched from "Hot Shot" to simply "Cal," and Caleb decided that was the best he was going to get. Finn seemed to prefer it when people found him obnoxious, and Caleb wasn't about to give him the satisfaction.

At this point, Caleb thought he'd have a heart attack if Finn ever did actually refer to him by his full name.

"Come on!" Finn exclaimed. "I'm sure you're just as impervious to cold as you are to everything else, but I'm freezing, Tough Stuff!"

Oh. Hell. No.

He shoved a handful of snow down the back of Finn's jacket.

"_Don't_ call me that," he growled while Finn was busy squealing like a ten-year-old girl.

"At least you didn't throw me across the room," Finn laughed, poking him in the side.

Shit. He'd seen Caleb thinking about that incident, somehow _knew_ what it was Caleb had been thinking about. And here Caleb had always considered himself the observant one. Even though they'd been sharing an apartment for nearly thirteen months (he knew that because their lease was for thirteen months and Molly had just posted a note on their door telling them their renewal was due), Caleb still had to wonder—just who the hell _was_ this guy?

Well, whatever else he was, he knew how to cook. Finn reserved all his energy for fancy desserts, most of the time, and let Averil do all the cooking. But today, the two of them teamed up to deliver a beef stew to warm them back up after their snowball fight, along with fresh-baked rolls. Averil, as usual, made enough food for their entire apartment complex to feast on. But it was becoming obvious why he did that, since he put a bunch of leftovers into a box, shoved the box at his brother, and told Lee to take it next door.

"Next door?" Lee muttered, his face flushing.

"They never have real dinner. You know Tom and Yuri are too busy, so they probably eat frozen waffles for every meal." A sigh gusted from him, and a slightly wicked smile spread over his lips when he saw Lee contemplating this. "Poor Sara," he finished in a sly tone.

Lee immediately stammered out that he'd be back soon, or something to that effect, and practically sprinted next door. Finn grinned and waved a roll in Averil's direction.

"They're such a cute couple, aren't they?"

Averil rolled his eyes. "They would be if they'd admit they like one another."

Caleb had reached his limit for time spent conversing about other people's love lives. He stood up. "I have to write a paper," he growled.

"What a coincidence, so do I!" Finn exclaimed. Like that was news or something. The day Finn didn't have some kind of major project would be the day he finally got the master's degree he was supposedly studying for.

Caleb started clearing the table, but Averil waved him off.

"I got it, I'll take care of this. You guys can go study."

"You're sure, Ril?" Finn asked, bouncing up out of his seat.

"Yeah. It's fine."

"Thanks!" he said, and dashed into their living room to perch beside a massive pile of research and do something vague and historical. Caleb had no idea what the spaz actually studied, except that he'd apparently taught himself a language that no longer existed. Caleb had paid attention to Finn's supposed area of expertise precisely once. He normally didn't care, but that one time had been Lee's fault.

Lee had been interested in the legend of King Arthur for a while. He'd asked if Finn knew anything about it. Finn had gone pale—well, more pale—and said in a harsh voice that he didn't study that. He'd immediately switched back on his running-off-at-the-mouth ADHD personality, but just for that second, he'd been like a completely different person. Caleb had been wondering ever since just why the medieval legend scared his roommate so much. He'd never asked, because all he'd get for his trouble would be some random bullshit evasion thinly disguised as flirtation. Not worth it. No, he was waiting for the right moment.

Caleb made a half-hearted effort to help Averil with the dishes, let himself be persuaded otherwise, and followed Finn into the living room so he could study. He was just taking pre-requisites, spinning his wheels. He didn't have a major. He didn't need one. He was just here to play baseball. He didn't need a degree, much as the academic advisor might try to tell him otherwise. And if baseball ever fell through, he'd move back home and become a cop, just like he'd always planned on.

He heard the running water turn off and heard Averil and Lee's bedroom door close. He looked at the front door, through which Lee ought to have returned by now, and chuckled.

"That kid's got it bad for her."

"Enough to eat dinner all over again, apparently," Finn said with a grin.

With Caleb on their second-hand sofa with a biology textbook and Finn sprawled out across the floor with books, papers, his laptop, and who knew what else, they both became absorbed in their studies and let the twins slip from their minds.

* * *

Lee closed the door and sighed, feeling the need to lean on it for a moment. There was a pleasant euphoric sensation in his head that was reminiscent of a good alcohol buzz. Tom wasn't home, he was working, and Yuri hadn't bothered him and Sara at all. Yuri was always on his side when it came to Sara. Any time spent with Sara was good time, but it was especially good when it wasn't at school and they could just talk. Sara was a deeper and more intelligent person than she acted like at school. Lee loved being the one who got to see her that way.

Caleb grunted at him. "Just going to stand there all night?"

Finn had fallen asleep on his stomach on the floor, surrounded by a bunch of papers. He shifted a little when Caleb spoke, but sighed and subsided, his breath blowing a chunk of messy blond hair off his cheek.

Lee just smiled at Caleb, who was scowling down at a book on his lap like it had insulted him.

"Maybe," he said quietly.

Caleb flicked the page over. "Whatever," he muttered, but Lee could tell he didn't mean it. He was pretty sure that Caleb liked Sara, as much as one could ever be sure that Caleb liked anything.

Lee pushed himself up and toward his room, allowing that nearly narcotic buzz to continue as he walked. He'd say goodnight to his brother, he'd ignore the homework he should be doing, and he'd lay there like the lovesick teenager he was, staring at the ceiling and thinking fuzzy Sara-thoughts. Maybe he'd think about how the new cut of her auburn hair made her look like a pixie, or how her tiny little hands were so expressive when she was talking, or . . .

He froze when he opened the door. "_Ril_?" He was across the room and on his knees in a moment, the buzz in his head cut sharply by a blade of fear. "Ril, oh, shit."

Averil was laying in a rictus of desperation on the floor. He had his hands clutched in the worn carpeting, his back arched up, and his eyes bulging. A squeezing, pathetically tiny sound tore its way from his throat. His lips were turning blue. Lee whipped his head around and saw Averil's inhaler only one precious foot away on the desk they'd wedged between their beds. He snatched it up and shoved it into his brother's mouth.

"Averil!" he shouted, getting his face right into his twin's, so Ril could see him, would notice that help was here. He pumped the inhaler twice, and then some more just in case. The medicine did its job, and Lee could see the moment that oxygen started leaking its way past the shrinking constriction. Those wide, frightened eyes suddenly lit up. Ril's chest arched up and he greedily sucked at the stale air like it was the purest mountain breeze.

Lee stayed there only a moment, making sure Ril was really breathing now. His brother looked at him now, finally able to see past his fear to know who was with him.

"Are you having a panic attack?" Lee asked.

The dark head nodded just slightly. Tears slid down his face, and though his breathing was coming easier every moment, it was shuddering in and out with no sense of control. Now that he wasn't writhing in agony, he was starting to shake. Lee got his hands under Ril's arms and dragged him onto the bed. He sat behind his twin and held Ril to his chest. Ril was too weak right now to sit all the way up, but laying all the way down wouldn't help him breathe any better. So Lee held him up, clutching him close and talking softly so Ril would hear his voice through the onslaught of fear, waiting for the crying and the trembling to stop.

And if he was shaking, too, there was no one but Ril to say anything about that.

There was a quiet knock on the open door, and Lee looked up to see Caleb and Finn standing there. He nodded at them, and Caleb retreated, but Finn came in. He brushed his fingers through Averil's black hair and smiled at him.

"You're all right now, aren't you?" he said softly. It was mostly a confirmation, not really a question.

Averil was calming down, now. He nodded at Finn and turned his face away in embarrassment. Lee looked to make sure he wasn't hiding more breathing problems, but he seemed okay. Then he felt those long fingers in his own hair, and turned back to Finn.

"And you're all right, too?" the man asked. It really was a question this time. He nodded, feeling weary and spent, and was glad when Finn just ruffled his hair and left, instead of pressing him to talk any more.

Because it wasn't all right, not really. Ril was getting panic attacks more frequently than he used to, and more and more often they were bringing on really bad asthma. If he kept getting worse . . . Lee didn't know what he'd do. Averil was his brother, his twin, was half of his soul in another body. For Lee, seeing Ril like this was worse than if it had been happening to him. There should be something he could do, right? There had to be more he could do than just pick his twin up and sit there like a lump while Ril went through agony.

Ril was falling asleep, exhausted now that it was over. Lee slid off the bed and let him sleep. He stayed up at his desk studying until Finn came in sometime in the middle of the night and turned off the lamp and pushed him into a weary stumble into his bed. Lee was asleep almost before his head found his pillow.

* * *

_January 14__th_,_ 2010_

Caleb shuffled into the kitchen with his customary scowl. Honestly, there were mornings he woke up in a perfectly acceptable mood and wore the grumpy morning persona just because his roommates would be disappointed if he didn't. Today, of course, the scowl matched his mood perfectly.

"Good morning," Finn chirped at him from the table they'd crammed into the corner of the living room closest to the kitchen. He was drinking from a mug and reading something.

"Coffee," he muttered in response.

"Oh, Papa Bear, you're so grouchy in the morning!"

Caleb debated throwing the full, steaming mug at the blond, then decided he didn't want to pay for carpet cleaning.

"If you ever call me that again, I'll shove that book down your throat," he settled for saying.

"Okay, you're not grouchy, then, you're just very sleepy. Papa Bear."

Carpet cleaning couldn't be that expensive, right?

"Maybe I wouldn't be grouchy if my roommate didn't wake up at two a.m. and then start banging around the house. Making it impossible for anyone else to sleep."

Finn gave him a sunny smile. "You were so worried about me that you couldn't sleep? How sweet!"

"You _would_ mistake annoyance for worry."

"I was making Lee go to sleep," he said with self-importance. "Someone has to be Mama Bear around here."

Caleb shook his head, suddenly wanting to go back to bed so he wouldn't have to deal with this guy anymore. "I would ask if you know what you sound like, but I think you'd be thrilled to get painted as some gay stereotype so no one would look at you any closer than that."

Finn just grinned at him as cheerfully as ever, but his knuckles had clenched down around the handle of his coffee mug.

"I mean, are you even gay?"

"I have no idea!" Finn replied with a laugh.

"How do you not kn—" He stopped. _Don't even bother asking_, he told himself.

Caleb debated mentioning what had woken Finn up to begin with. Finn had been sleeping with his face buried like he always did, but he'd suddenly jerked up shouting, "Don't touch him!" He'd looked at Caleb, but Caleb pretended to stay asleep. Whoever this "him" was, and why he wasn't to be touched . . . It had nothing to do with Caleb, and it wasn't his business to stick his nose in. All he wanted was for Finn to admit that he had problems and stop acting like he farted rainbows. Caleb didn't need to know what the problems were. He just didn't appreciate being the recipient of all those games that Finn played to look happy and innocent. Caleb didn't ever bring up his own past, but he didn't go around acting like the world was all buttercups and cream puffs, either.

"Be those kids' freaking mother if it makes you happy," he drawled. "But don't hide behind them, either. You never went back to bed."

"Oooo, you noticed," Finn teased. "You _were_ worried about me!"

"Whatever," Caleb growled, slamming his cup down in the sink. "I have to get ready for school."

Lee walked past him to get at the coffee pot, asking Finn in a mystified voice, "What's eating him?"

"Big Daddy's always a grump, don't mind him," Finn replied.

Caleb heard Lee start choking on his coffee and sighed deeply. Looked like they'd have to get the carpet cleaned after all. Big Daddy. God.

* * *

Averil finished up the dishes, feeling completely wrung out. He tried to keep himself distracted, tried to think pleasant thoughts about what he was learning in English class and how much better this new dish soap worked and anything to keep his brain occupied. He didn't know why he bothered, because he didn't know if it would work, anyway. Panic attacks weren't exactly predictable. He just knew he was too tired to handle another one.

He started cleaning the kitchen once the dishes were done, feeling even more tired. He was the only one who really seemed to care about cleanliness. It wasn't like the other guys were slobs or anything, but he'd never really seen Caleb with a duster in his hand, either. It was a constant battle against entropy, keeping the house clean when it was inhabited by four young males. He wasn't sure Finn even knew how to operate the washing machine. Averil pretty much did all the laundry.

He was tired of it. He knew the other guys noticed he did all the work. Sometimes they even said thank you. But he was tired of the way they expected it of him. Like it was just his job or something. He was the one who'd volunteered, obviously. He was the one who couldn't help with rent because his panic attacks made him too unreliable to get a job. He had to do something to pull his own weight. It was just that a little recognition wouldn't go amiss.

Averil knew he was a burden on everyone. He tried so hard not to be. But he was. He made life so hard on his brother, and he was practically useless around here. Cleaning was nice, but unnecessary. He couldn't be cheerful and keep people's spirits up the way Finn did. He wasn't exactly a rock of reliability like Caleb, either. He wasn't like Lee, strong without even trying. He wasn't any good to anyone around here, unless you were talking about who was making dinner.

Maybe Lee was the problem. Well, it was actually the reverse. Averil was the problem, which Lee's very existence made clear. Lee, who looked like their dad and shared his name. Lee, who was determined and serious like Dad but had Mom's compassion. Averil was something else. They told him he looked like some long-lost relative of Dad's, but what did that matter? He was excitable and impatient and awkward. He was the cuckoo stuck in someone else's nest. He always had been.

"I'm home!" came a sing-song voice from outside.

Finn came waltzing in the door, looking tired but cheerful. His trademark long blue coat was open, revealing the black slacks and white shirt that meant he'd been working. None of them really had any idea of all the things Finn did for money, but his rent came from working at some café and charming old ladies into giving him amazing tips. All it took was a limpid look from those baby blues and they fell all over themselves for him. He was also a T.A. in the history department, apparently.

Finn really was great, even if he was psychotic. Just a few weeks ago, on the first anniversary of the death of his and Lee's parents, when Caleb was trying to leave them alone and let them feel sad, Finn had made a sign for the front door that said "Orphans Only." Surprisingly, it made them feel better.

Of course, he wasn't really known for leaving well enough alone. He'd thoughtfully made another sign to put on their neighbour's door. Which Tom had torn down, hollering about insensitivity, not to mention that his father was alive, albeit absent. It did, at least, answer _one_ question about Finn's past, though it raised a few about Tom's and Sara's.

They'd already known about Caleb's parents being dead because Lee had accidentally picked up one of Caleb's books and a newspaper clipping fell out that had his father's obituary on it. Police officer, killed in the line of duty. Lee had apologized about twenty times, but Caleb just shrugged and said his mother was also dead, she'd been sick or something, and that he didn't care if they knew. Nobody had brought it up again. None of them were real big on talking about anything that had happened before they'd started sharing this apartment. Just knowing that Finn's parents were dead was a big deal.

"Hey," he heard Caleb saying gruffly. "Averil. You okay?"

He blinked up at the other man, coming up out of his daze, and nodded. Finn shoved his way past the bigger man and went to the fridge, waving off Averil's offer of leftovers in favour of swiping some juice and drinking directly from the carton. He was clearly the oldest of them, but he acted like such a little kid. Funny how Caleb, who was barely old enough to buy his own alcohol, was the adult around here. Mostly. When he wasn't yelling at Finn for being uncivilized and not using a glass, and getting all annoyed by one of Finn's nicknames. Averil himself was forgotten (as usual), and he slid past them out of the small kitchen to go to his room.

Lee wasn't there. Oh, right—he'd gone next door with dinner for Sara and Tom again. He'd be a good hour, unless Tom was being all brotherly and trying to chase the juvenile delinquent away from his sister. Averil was glad that Lee had Sara. She was good for him. She gave him someone to care about who didn't need anything from him. She actually gave something back. Unlike Averil.

He sat down at the desk to try to study, but he felt tears slipping out. He didn't know why he was crying. He'd been miserable all the time, lately. It didn't make any sense for him to feel that way. His parents were dead, sure. But he and Lee had found a place to live, and Lee wasn't in trouble anymore, and school was going fine. He should be happy, right? Instead he was having panic attacks all the time and making problems for people and doing nothing worthwhile for them.

He couldn't study right now. He could barely breathe. And if he thought about the tightness in his chest, it would get worse, and that would be bad. It wasn't fair. What cosmic power picked him out to suddenly not be able to breathe, all the time? It sucked. What had he ever done to deserve it?

_Lost_, the word came to him as he tried to bury his head in his arms. He was lost. He didn't know where he was, who he was . . . He didn't know why. He didn't know why anything was the way it was, or what he was supposed to do with it. He just felt lost, all the time. He didn't hate it here, or anything like that. He just knew that he didn't fit in with them. He couldn't joke around with the two older guys, and he weighed his own brother down unforgivably. He had no ideas about his future or about what he wanted. He didn't make any sense to himself.

He didn't fit here. Just like it had been in his own family. He was . . . not like Mom and Dad and Lee, and not like Finn and Caleb, either. How stupid was it, that he only knew what he was _not_? He didn't feel unloved. He knew better than to think that, not after what Lee had done for his sake since Mom and Dad died. Even his roommates seemed to like him well enough. But he never could get in a word edgewise, it seemed like. Not unloved. Just forgotten.

He decided to go get a glass of water and try to calm the hell down. He wasn't doing anyone any good, acting like this.

He heard Finn and Caleb having an honest-to-God serious conversation in the kitchen, and he stood there in his doorway, listening. It was unusual to hear them talking in normal voices, instead of teasing and almost-flirting and pretend irritation that turned into real irritation. He shouldn't eavesdrop, but he did.

". . . rough on him, you know? He's just a kid, got his first crush and all, but he's got all this shit to deal with, when it comes to Averil."

"Yeah. It's not like Lee would ever think that Ril was a burden or something, though."

"Even if he is?"

"Lee doesn't see it that way. Trust me. Ril is his twin brother, and no matter how difficult it gets, he'll still want to take care of him."

"Yeah. I figured. The kid needs to be able to take care of himself, though."

"Ril, you mean?"

"Yeah. He's got to learn to stand up for himself, to take care of himself. I know he took their parents dying harder than Lee did, but still . . ."

Averil stumbled backward, trying to breathe. The tightness in his chest wasn't asthma, and it wasn't panic. It was horror. Pure horror. Was that what they really thought of him? That he was weak, that he was a burden . . . That he was everything he'd been assuming about himself? If even the cheery and crazy Finn could see it—

He shook his head violently. He had to get out of here. That was all, that was really all there was to it. He loved Lee too much to keep holding him back like this. He really liked Finn and Caleb, too, and to find out that they thought he was weak, that he was in the way . . .

He picked up his inhaler and put it in his pocket. He grabbed the framed photograph of him and his twin with their parents. He rifled through the desk, and triumphantly withdrew the papers that declared him an emancipated minor. He and Lee both were. The court had wanted to put them in foster care, but they were already living with Caleb and Finn by then, and they'd been able to get emancipated instead. Averil was legally considered an adult, according to these papers, and he shoved them into his bookbag with the photograph and a book of recipes he'd been creating.

In the kitchen, Caleb was frowning. "You hear that?"

"Do you think Ril heard us?"

"No, the door's shut," Caleb reported, peering around the corner. "He's not the eavesdropping type."

"Well. How do you want to bring it up?"

"Let's just do it," Caleb said impatiently. "When Lee comes back, just sit down and say it. We think Ril should see a counselor for a while."

"We have to make sure he knows that we don't blame him. I don't want him to think it's his fault. It's not shameful for him to need this."

In the bedroom, no longer able to hear, Averil tore a page from a spiral notebook he used for class notes.

"And you really need to take your own advice," Caleb snorted.

"What do you mean, Big Daddy?" Finn crooned.

Averil started writing.

"Don't call me that, you moron. I'm talking about you, going to see someone."

"See someone? Only if it makes you jealous, Cal."

"Yeah, whatever. If it's nothing for Averil to be ashamed of . . ."

"Enough," Finn said sharply. "This isn't about me."

Averil folded the page in half and wrote his brother's name on it.

"Fine. We'll talk to them when Lee comes back, then."

Finn went to the bathroom and stayed there for a while. Caleb decided he was in there sulking, and he went to their room and fumed to himself for a few minutes. They didn't hear the other bedroom door open and close, nor the front door. They didn't know. Not until Lee came home.

* * *

Lee shut the door and leaned against it, but it was far different from yesterday. This was the front door to Tom and Sara's place, and he could hear Tom and Yuri's argument through the white-painted wood. He knew Sara was crying, and he wanted to be in there with her, helping her. But the mere sight of him was putting Tom in a homicidal state, and Yuri had told him he'd better go.

Those bruises on Sara's arms. They scared him. That was what Tom didn't get, the thing that had Lee just as angry with Tom as Tom was with him. He was just as scared as Sara's brother was, to see the bruises on her skin. It didn't help that Tom had gotten in his face and accused him of putting them on her. Yuri had been quick to jump to Lee's defense—like hell Lee would ever hurt _any_ girl, much less Sara. But then Sara said she thought they might have come from the snowball fight, and Tom was ready to take the injuries out of someone's hide. He'd try to take on Caleb, in this state, if he had to.

"You have to take her to the doctor, Tom!" he heard Yuri saying.

"And have the doctor call the cops, thinking I did it? No way! They'd try to take her guardianship away from me."

"It's too important not to look into, and you know it."

"The only thing I know is that whichever of those goddamn thugs next door hurt her—"

"Tom," Yuri interrupted, his voice suddenly softer. "You know that no one, not even Caleb, could throw a snowball hard enough to leave bruises like that."

"Yeah, but it happened."

"And that means it has an explanation. Which she needs to see a doctor to discover. Think about it. She's been tired all the time, she keeps saying she has a headache, and now she's turning up with bruises that have no cause? She needs to go _now_, Tom. You remember what happened when I didn't want to see a doctor? In case you don't, I'll remind you: it was bad, and I almost died. If you won't take her, I will."

Lee heard Tom try to say something, but he gave upon it, and the conversation ceased. Lee finally pushed himself away from the door, feeling sick. He entered his own apartment, making a beeline for his room. He had to talk to his brother. He needed to get this fear off his chest, explain what was going on. Something might be wrong with Sara, and he had to get past Tom's anger so that he could be there for her. Because he wanted to be there. Sara would need him. He didn't know what she saw in him, he really didn't, but he'd do anything to be worth her regard.

"Hey, Ril," he said, feeling almost shy as he came in. He had to tell his brother. He had to tell Ril that he was falling in love with Sara and that he'd do anything to help her if she was sick. "Are you— what?"

Ril wasn't there. He hadn't been in the common area, and Lee couldn't think of a reason that he'd be in Finn and Caleb's room. Lee looked around sharply. Something was missing.

There. It was usually right there. The picture of their family. It was gone.

His eyes fell on the piece of paper on the desk. It was a sheet of notebook paper, folded it half. It said _Lee_ on it. He snatched it up. He heard someone walking up behind him, but he was too busy trying to breathe to care.

"I know I've been a burden on you. I'm sorry. I'm going someplace where I won't be getting in your way anymore. Don't worry about me, I have a plan. Don't—" He choked. He dropped the paper.

Finn knelt down, picked it up, finished it. "Don't look for me," he said softly.

Caleb snarled something unintelligible and punched a hole in the wall. Lee would have, but he was too busy going to his knees.

"No. No, no, no . . ." Finn's hand was on his shoulder, and he hung his head so the other guys couldn't see him start to cry. "No."

* * *

_Okay then. Here's the deal._

_I have already written most of this story, and I'm awfully proud of myself. I have, in the past, tended to write each chapter one at a time and post them as soon as it was done. This time, I chose to take a brief hiatus from the world of fanfiction to work on this story, so I could give it to you with regular updates and a lack of continuity errors. I will be giving you a chapter every week, which will give me time in between chapters to work on any issues that are brought to my attention in reviews._

_Another thing I want to mention: I have been a member of this website for years, and I've never branched out. Mostly because I am lazy. But if someone who is reading this feels that my story would be welcome in another community, let me know! I really like this story and want to share it with people! I'm not brave enough to go look for other websites and beg them to take me, so I'm going to be shy and wait for an invitation._

_So, that's it! Don't forget that you can go here** if you want to read my explanation for character's names, and I'll see you next week with Chapter Two._

_** faren-maddox (dot) livejournal (dot) com (slash) 32740 (dot) html_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

_January 15__th_

"How's Zack doing?" Yvonne asked, crossing her legs and picking up her teacup.

Harold chuckled when he noticed. He had no idea where Yvonne had picked up this sexpot act, but she apparently couldn't even turn it off to have a cup of tea with her elderly neighbour. He'd _noticed_ she had great legs, sure, but he didn't care, what with having one foot in the grave and all. He lit up a cigarette and ignored his own tea.

"Kid's great, so far as I know. Good grades, popular, the whole package."

"He doesn't look that happy," Yvonne said, observing the boy in question through the window. He was shoveling snow out of the driveway.

Harold rolled his eyes. "He doesn't look like anything, ever. I have no idea where he got the idea that he's not allowed to smile, but I've certainly never seen him do it. I dare you to ask him how he feels. Dragging an admission of feelings out of him is like pulling teeth."

"Maybe he secretly hates good grades and popularity."

"I think he's just a stoic. He could break his leg and he'd walk on it for five miles just to prove that people make too much of it. He's always been that way. Here, I'll show you what Zack looks like when he's happy." Harold drew on his cigarette and gave Yvonne a bored, almost sleepy, expression. "And here's angry." He didn't change the bored expression in the slightest. "This is Zack when he's heartbroken." Same face. "Scared to death."

By now, Yvonne was laughing so hard she had to put her cup down.

"Wait, wait, you haven't seen overjoyed or crippling pain yet!"

"Maybe it's part of the appeal. You told me the ladies flock to him."

Harold blew a practiced smoke ring and shook his head. "He's a great kid. I think he's just bored, or something. Needs a challenge in his life. Probably why he took up archery, so he could deal with an impossible sport _and_ deal with getting mercilessly teased because people think it's wimpy. Although it's kind of hard to mock someone who just looks at you like _this_." He did a repeat of Zack's heavy-lidded expression.

"Not the sort of challenge a boy like Zack needs, is it?" Yvonne murmured, sipping her tea. Harold offered a smoke to Yvonne, and she took it with pleasure. Just to be polite, though. "Do you worry about him?"

"What do you think?"

She just smiled at him, curving her lips around the cigarette so she could laugh at the way he noticed it and dismissed it without caring. It was refreshing, being around Harold.

"All the time," Harold sighed, finally drinking his tea.

Her eyes trailed over Harold's grandson again, assessing him while he shoveled. She'd been living in the attachment to her antique store for years, and she didn't think Zack had changed in the slightest from the day he'd come to live with his grandfather, years ago. He was the sort of guy you saw playing the hero in disaster movies—good-looking, so strong and stable that he could handle whatever act of God was destroying his town, and he'd get the girl in the process.

No acts of God around here, though. Just a bunch of quiet neighbours and a tiny kindergarten that was run by two women so nice that it made Yvonne a little nauseous. Nothing exciting ever happened in this neighbourhood.

They heard tires squealing, and they looked out just in time to see a car go speeding up the street, swerving and accelerating like the driver was in the midst of sudden panic. In the drive, Zack was dropping his shovel and running in the direction the car had come from.

Yvonne and Harold leapt up, both of them tossing their half-smoked cigarettes into their cups of tea almost simultaneously. They both chased after Zack, and found him at the corner of the street, kneeling in the slush at the side of the road. There was someone laying on the ground.

"Did that car hit him?" Harold shouted as he ran.

"Yes," Zack replied calmly, his hand on the neck of the still person in front of him, searching for a pulse.

"Idiot!" Yvonne snapped at the long-disappeared car. "What are you doing, driving like that when you're in front of a school?"

Zack was moving aside so Harold could kneel down and examine the boy, who seemed no older than Zack. Zack slowly stood up, leaving it to his grandfather. Harold was retired, now, but he'd been a trauma surgeon in the hospital for almost thirty years. Harold joked on the day he retired that he was now the most qualified bystander around. And here he was, like it was fate or something. Yvonne was a big believer in fate.

"It wasn't their fault," Zack said, still calm. His eyes fell on something dark, laying on the sidewalk, and he bent to retrieve it. "The kid walked right out in front of the car." It was a messenger bag, the sort of thing boys carried schoolbooks in if they didn't use a backpack. "Like he meant to." He peered inside.

"As in, trying to commit suicide?" Harold asked, looking up from his calm but hurried inspection.

Zack grunted, nodded. "Probably."

"That was selfish," Yvonne said soberly, looking up the street again with a different feeling. "To lay the blame for his death on someone else like that."

There was respect in Zack's eyes when he looked up at her from his perusal of the messenger bag. But he just grunted again.

"Selfish, heh. More like foolish," Harold said with a wry look on his face. "Boy's not even close to dead. He's probably fine. Knocked his head, but not too bad." He started gently patting the cheeks of the dark-haired boy. "Hey. Hey, kid. Wake up."

Surprisingly, the boy's eyes opened, revealing them to be blue. Yvonne finally walked close enough to get a look at the boy, and she barely held back her exclamation of surprise.

It was Averil.

She didn't often take that much interest in the residents of the apartment building she owned. She let her niece Molly handle most of it. Molly might be excitable and childlike, but she was a pretty good judge of character. Thirteen months ago, Yvonne's belief in fate had led her to take an interest in two college students struggling to make rent, and she'd very cleverly engineered for them to sign their lease without actually meeting one another first. Then a few months after that, she'd taken interest again, because Finn and Caleb had picked up a couple of strays. Lee and Averil met with her, showed her the court papers that let them make their own decisions, and Yvonne had felt the stirring of fate again and agreed to let them move in with the older two boys.

Averil was unhappy. She'd known it. It had been written into his posture, the tone of his voice. Molly had noticed it, too. But for Averil to do something like this . . .

"What the hell did you think you were doing, boy?" she heard Harold say in a scolding tone. She focused.

Averil was blinking painfully, squinting. "Where am I?"

"You're in the middle of the street."

"Why?"

"You just got hit by a car." Harold paused, frowned. "You don't remember?"

"No," Averil said in a dreamy tone. "Was it my fault?"

No one said anything.

"I don't know how I got here," he said, pushing himself up into a sitting position even though Harold was sternly telling him to keep his ass still until Harold was sure he was okay. "I don't . . . remember. Anything." His eyes were getting wider and wider, which would reveal to anyone who paid attention that only one of his eyes was truly blue, while the other was a pale, almost grayish colour. "Wait. Oh, god. I don't know why I'm here. I don't know where I came from. Oh my god. I just . . . I can't remember." He looked up in complete panic, his breath coming in sharp gasps, and his eyes met Zack's, for some reason. Zack still looked ridiculously calm. "I don't remember my name," he whimpered. Then he passed out.

"His name is Averil," Zack said in the moment of quiet shock. "At least that's what he wrote on the notebook in his bag." He knelt down, speaking calmly. "We know his neck and back aren't broken, right?" he asked his grandfather. "He's soaking wet, though. We need to get his clothes changed and warm him up. I'll take him inside." He picked the other boy up like a child, with an arm under his back and one behind his knees. If Averil was heavy, he gave no sign of it. "Memory loss is probably just temporary, right?"

He started trudging back to the house. Harold grimaced at Yvonne. "I was going to show you Zack's panicked face, but I guess you've seen it now."

Yvonne stared after the two boys, and she made her decision. Fate was screaming at her to keep her mouth shut, and that was what she would do.

* * *

When he woke up, he was more confused than he had been when he'd passed out. He still didn't know where he was. But he knew that he was far warmer. He was laying in someone else's bed, wearing someone else's clothes . . . Well. Who knew? Maybe it was his bed, his clothes. He tried to think. Tried to remember. But when he tried to reach his mind back, he heard tires squeal and his brain felt the jolt of being flung into the air by the hood of a car. He stopped there, didn't try anymore.

Because . . .

If it was so hard to remember, maybe it was better if he didn't.

If it hurt so much to try, maybe it would hurt more to succeed.

If something was blocking his way back, maybe it was supposed to be there.

He didn't know. He couldn't know. The memories lingered there, tantalizing him with how close they were and how untouchable. He didn't know whether it was better to remember or to forget. What he did know was that he was afraid. He didn't remember anything about himself, and he didn't know where he was. If he didn't know himself, then how was he to know what he should do? The past was blank and that made the future blank as well. How could he help but be afraid?

What would he do? Where would he go?

He didn't know.

He couldn't breathe.

He felt his fingers clutching at the blanket that had been carefully laid over him. His throat felt tight, swollen. His lungs were begging him to breathe more deeply. He tried. He heard air whistling in his strangled throat. Tears pricked his eyes. His lungs began to burn. He knew what he needed, but he didn't know how to get it. He stumbled to his feet, wincing at the sensation of sharp pain, his hand clutching low on his left side.

His pocket. There was an inhaler in the pocket of his pants. But he was wearing a pair of sweatpants now, and no matter how warm they were, they didn't have what he needed. Where were his damned _pants_?

He tripped over something, fell forward, and clutched at the chair in front of the desk. He sat down in it heavily, looking to see that he'd tripped over—an arrow? What the hell?

"Hello?" he coughed. _Please, please, someone hear me . . ._

The bedroom door opened, and a teenager calmly entered the room and walked right past his struggles, reaching behind him to get to the desk. The stranger opened the top drawer, extracted the inhaler, and held it out wordlessly. He snatched it up like the lifesaver it was, but he found his hands shook so badly that he couldn't hold it. It fell to the floor, and he dropped his head down onto the desk with a moan.

There was a hand on his shoulder, pushing him backward. He looked up, but the dark-haired boy said nothing, simply kept pushing at him until he was leaning against the back of the chair. He held up the inhaler again, but this time he didn't give it to him. The other boy put one hand on the back of his head, pressed the inhaler to his lips, and pushed down to release the medicine.

He sucked it in, held it, let it work. He could feel his heart racing with its fear, but he managed to clench his hands into the borrowed pants to put a stop to the shaking. He had the sense that this was normal for him. That this was only the beginning, that it would get worse and that he would wind up in a quaking, crying heap on the floor and that he hated himself for it.

The boy's perpetually sleepy eyes gave him a once-over. "Can you breathe?"

"Yeah," he whimpered, nodding too frantically to be convincing.

"Then why are you acting so scared?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, here." The boy reached into the drawer again and retrieved a pair of eyeglasses, which he handed over. "My grandfather found these on the sidewalk. They yours?"

"Yes," he said in relief, putting them on and wishing they made him feel better. They didn't.

"Hey," the stranger said, his voice sounding almost bored. He suddenly reached out and smacked him on the shoulder. "Knock it off."

He froze in shock, staring at the other boy.

"You're not dying, you know. My grandfather says you have a knot on the back of your head and you maybe bruised a couple of your ribs. You don't even need to go to the doctor, unless you want to."

He shook his head violently, and could feel with enormous relief that his panic was subsiding—surprised right out of him by the blow to his arm. "No, I don't want to go. But—well, is your grandfather a doctor?"

"Retired, yeah. Hey. Your foot is bleeding."

"Oh, crap," he yelped, yanking his foot off the floor and grimacing at the blood staining the carpet. "I'm sorry. Wait, no I'm not." He scowled. "My foot is bleeding because I stepped on a freaking arrow. Why do you have arrows on your freaking FLOOR?"

The boy's heavy-lidded eyes swept to the floor, and his eyebrows raised the tiniest fraction. "I must have knocked them over when I put you on the bed." He bent down and collected the arrows on the floor, returning them to a quiver of black leather which he leaned against the wall between the bed and the desk. "Sorry."

"Is it bad?" He didn't want to look. "Am I going to bleed to death?"

The boy just looked at him, apparently trying to convey that he was an idiot without wasting words. "I'll go get my grandfather to wrap it up for you."

"Wait!"

The boy stopped and looked at him.

"What . . . Where am I?"

"At my house."

"But I . . . I seem to remember . . . I got hit by a car?"

"Yeah. You still don't remember anything?"

"No."

"Do you remember who you are?"

"No." He could feel his breath coming short again.

"Hey. Quit it. It's fine."

"How is this fine?" he squawked. "How are you so damn calm about it?"

"We'll figure it out. Your name's Averil, anyway. Averil Reed. It's written on the front of the notebook that was in your bag."

"Why were you going through my stuff?"

"To figure out your name. There's some other stuff in the bag, but I didn't look at it. Yet. Now stay still and keep your foot elevated."

"I know that!" he snapped, reflexively pulling his foot up higher.

"I'm Zack, by the way."

"Huh?"

"My name. It's Zack Williams. My grandfather's name is Harold. Also Williams. In case you care."

The other teenager left, presumably to retrieve Grandfather Harold-Also-Williams.

"What a bastard," he muttered. He did put his bleeding foot up on the desk, and glared at the arrows beside him. "Who keeps arrows in their bedroom, anyway?"

But what did it matter, really? Even if he was a bastard, and weird on top of it, this Zack Williams had done a lot for him. Plucked him out of the snow, allowed him to sleep in his bed, and then he'd walked in here and possibly saved his life without batting an eyelash. Not to mention that he'd cured him of an impending panic attack just by hitting him. And that he'd given him a name.

"Averil. My name is Averil? Are—were—my parents crazy? I think they're dead . . ."

An older gentleman who looked almost eerily like the teenager, except the white hair, entered the room. He, at least, appeared to possess the ability to smile, which he was employing.

"Well, well, our patient is awake. Looks like you're just accident-prone, aren't you, boy?"

"I wouldn't be stepping on arrows if people didn't leave them on the floor," he snapped. He also wouldn't be breathing if "people" hadn't noticed the inhaler and put it nearby. Dammit. He didn't even like the kid, why did the guy have to go and do something so important? The only person who'd ever done that for Averil before was . . .

_Someone. I don't know. Someone._

"Your foot's fine, kiddo. That's Zack for you. He might act cool as a cucumber, but he saw you were bleeding and freaked."

"_That's_ what freaked looks like?"

Harold winked at him. "You normally slap a bandaid on something like this. You don't usually call a trauma surgeon."

"Oh, wow. He said you were a doctor, but— oh, hey, bandaid. Thanks."

"You're welcome," Harold said, smoothing the edges down and making him squirm. Apparently he had ticklish feet. "I was happy to take a look, anyway. We were both worried about you, after that knock on the noggin. Your brain still feels a little scrambled, huh? I'll bet you don't remember the car accident. But everything else is coming back to you?"

"Uh, no," he mumbled, looking down.

"No?"

"Sorry."

"Don't be apologizing. But do talk to me. Let's figure this out. You didn't hit your head _that_ hard. You shouldn't be experiencing deep memory loss. You know your name, where you live, any of that?"

"Zack just told me my name. And I know I've got asthma. I think maybe I have some kind of attack, pretty regularly. Like anxiety. But when I try to remember—it sort of hurts."

"Hurts how?"

"I don't know how to explain, really. It hurts my brain. I _do_ remember the accident, at least the part where I flipped off the hood of the car. I don't know how I got there, though. I mean, what I was doing walking down this street. I . . . I think I . . . might have . . ." He dropped his head low, so Harold couldn't see him. "I think I walked in front of the car," he whispered. There. It was out in the open now.

"Zack saw the whole thing. He said you did." There was a hand on his shoulder that he supposed was to soften the blow of those words. "But that's okay. We can figure that part out, too."

"Maybe it's better if I don't remember," he muttered. "Maybe I had a reason to do that, and if I knew what it was . . ."

"Well, we don't want that, now, do we?" Harold asked, sounding almost jovial. He shook his shoulder. "Averil, isn't it? Why don't we focus on the things we can do something about? I need you to look me in the eyes so I can test your vision and settle my mind about a concussion. I thought you took a pretty hard hit to the side, too. You might have bruised your ribs, but I don't think any of them are broken. How do they feel?"

"They hurt," he shrugged. "But there's nothing really to do about that, is there?"

"Personally, I think good whiskey cures all ills, but for you I'd recommend some extra-strength Tylenol and a break from heavy lifting. And once I check your vision, more sleep might be a good idea. Look at my finger. Keep looking. Follow it with your eyes. Uh—" He faltered suddenly.

"What?"

"One of your eyes is, um, blind."

"I think that's normal," Averil said, gasping at the pain it caused his head to think about that.

"Well, follow my finger with your good eye. Okay. Good. Are you hungry? We haven't started dinner yet. Now straight up, that's perfect. Well? Do you want something to eat?"

Averil broke his gaze on Harold's forefinger. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"This," he gestured around the room. "Putting me in his bed and checking up on me and offering me dinner. Shouldn't you call someone? The police or something? I don't really know the protocol for something like this."

"Boy, I'm not so sure there _is_ a protocol for what happens when a suicidal amnesiac gets hit by a car in front of your house. That's why I'm making it up as I go. I like you, so far. We'll see how things go from there. I'm not going to call the police and get you in trouble, not when it might turn out that you're a nice kid who doesn't deserve trouble. Besides, Zack would kill me if I shoved you back out on the street right now."

"He would?"

"You've been unconscious for hours, boy. He's been rousing you every twenty minutes without fail, in case you had a concussion. Sitting right there in the chair you're currently occupying. I tried to take a turn, but he wouldn't let me."

"Why?"

"Who knows why in hell my grandson does anything? My best guess is he didn't like seeing you get hit by that car and he's trying to fix it." He fixed a very sharp gaze on Averil. "I've never seen Zack take such an interest in anyone before now. He's a stubborn kid, though, very stubborn. It isn't going to matter much to him if you want to be fixed up or not. He's going to do it anyway. Might as well just let him."

Harold retreated, leaving Averil with dizzying thoughts. Or maybe he was just dizzy. He had hit his head, after all.

This was the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him, of that he was sure. He didn't know what he was comparing it to, but he knew this was an odd encounter. What kind of person would just pick up a stranger and give him his clothes? Then keep vigil for hours, not even knowing . . .? It was weird, Averil concluded. He didn't trust Zack. Not one bit.

* * *

Averil slowly shuffled to the bedroom door, feeling groggy and uncertain of himself. He'd been asleep for quite a while, he knew. He hadn't bothered to eat, he'd just fallen back asleep once his foot was bandaged. He didn't know if it was late, early, or anything else. He also didn't know if it was okay for him to leave Zack's room. The Williams had been awfully nice to him so far, but that didn't mean they wanted him wandering around their house. But he really had to use the bathroom and he was _starving_. But, no . . .

. . . Okay, that was weird. He had this idea that he knew what it was like to actually be starving. He wasn't sure why. Right now, he was just hungry. And also disturbed by the implication that he'd gone through a period in his life where he hadn't had any food. Had his family been poor?

Again, he felt the jolt of impact, and his brain shied away from trying to remember his family. He found the bathroom and used it. He kept going, out of the hallway, wondering where he was heading. He found himself in their living room, and he realized that it really was the middle of the night. It was dark out and the lights were off. Despite that, he saw that there was something large on the sofa.

"Hey."

Averil jumped in shock and bit down on a high-pitched squeal. "God, don't _do_ that!"

Zack sat up, pushing away the blanket he'd been laying under. "You okay?"

"Yes, no thanks to my heart attack. I, um, just woke up and I didn't know what to do . . ."

"We didn't know if you'd sleep through the night or not. Sorry."

Averil wanted to apologize for making Zack sleep on the sofa, but unable to force such humble words out of his mouth when the unfeeling jerk was looking at him like that.

"Are you hungry? You missed dinner."

"No. I'm fine. Go back to sleep."

Zack stood up. "Don't be stupid. I'm not going to sleep if you're sitting in the other room, listening to your stomach growl all night." He walked through the doorway into the next room.

Again with the illogical self-sacrifice. What was with this guy? Averil followed him and found himself in the kitchen. Zack was standing in front of their pantry with a sort of grimace on his face. Averil peered over his shoulder and wondered what he was so upset about. Granted, there wasn't anything particularly fancy in there, but all the staples appeared to be well-stocked.

"Uh . . . We don't really cook. We eat out a lot."

"Right. Why do you have all that stuff if you don't use it?"

"In case we do use it, I guess," Zack mumbled. He moved to the fridge, stared at it for a moment, then gestured at it with his hand. "Help yourself."

Averil snorted and began taking inventory. "You don't know anything about cooking, do you?"

"I know how to cook. It just doesn't taste that good when I do it."

Averil snorted at that. "I'm fine, by the way. You can go back to sleep. In fact, go back to your bed, I'll sleep on the sofa."

"No. We don't make guests sleep on the couch."

"I'm not even a guest!" he snapped, with maybe just a touch of bitterness. "I'm . . . I don't know what I am, so nevermind."

Zack just looked at him for a moment, then turned around again. "Let me know if you need something," he said by way of parting, and Averil heard him lay down on the sofa again.

Damn him, the bastard, going and making Averil feel even more guilty for being here than he did already. He'd leave tomorrow, he decided. Leave with a limp from the stupid arrow, and with a rather limited range of motion due to his bruised ribs, and with no memory for reasons unknown. God. Where was he supposed to go? All he knew was that he wasn't going to mooch off the kindness of strangers. He was going.

He looked down at the sandwich he'd slapped together. Just stared at it for a while. Then he threw it away and went back to bed.

* * *

_January 16__th_

Harold woke early because something smelled wonderful. He couldn't put a finger on what the good smell was, but it registered that he ought to wake up and seek out the source of the aroma. It was while he was tying his robe over his pajamas that he remembered their odd houseguest. Maybe Zack was actually making an honest-to-God breakfast so that the other kid could eat?

Harold didn't run, because dignified old men don't run in their own house, but he sure did motor down the hall. He was insanely curious about the idea of Zack cooking breakfast. When he got to the kitchen, he stopped in surprise. The other kid was cooking.

"Oh, um, good morning," the kid stammered when he saw Harold. "I, uh, wanted to do something. To say thanks for everything. Zack said you don't eat at home much. I just thought . . . well, it's waffles."

"I don't have a mix for those," Harold said cautiously.

"I didn't think so."

"You made them from scratch?"

"They're good," he heard his grandson say, and he peered around the wall of the kitchen to find that Zack was sitting next door in the dining room with a plate of waffles already half-devoured. Zack, never the most verbose of fellows, didn't say anything else. Then again, he didn't have to. Harold knew the boy pretty well, by now, and he knew Zack wouldn't be plowing through the food if he didn't like it. He was a finicky eater, and he'd rather go hungry than eat something he didn't like.

"Any for me?" Harold asked cheerfully.

"Of course!" Averil said, sounding almost cheerful. "You're the one who tended to me, after all. You get the best ones!"

"In that case, you'd better give the good ones to Zack," Harold said in a lazy drawl, eyeing the food like it was manna from heaven. "He's been taking better care of you than I have."

Averil started muttering something under his breath and jabbing with his spatula, but Harold just chuckled and accepted a plate from him.

"You sure you're feeling okay, that you're up to this? You had a pretty rough day yesterday."

"I feel fine," Averil said with a shrug. "Minus the memory loss."

Harold frowned deeply. That had him worried. "About that . . . I think we'd better take you in to the hospital today. I want you to have a CAT scan."

"What? Why?"

"You shouldn't have memory loss on this scale, not when your head injury was so minor. I could be missing some deeper injury, and that would be very dangerous. If there's something going wrong in your brain, we need to know as soon as possible."

Averil whirled around with his fists clenched. "Obviously there's something wrong in my brain!" he snapped. "At some point yesterday, my brain decided I should die and I walked into traffic! I don't _want_ to remember why I did that!"

Harold was glad to hear him say that, even if it did make things more complicated. It meant that he was right, that it wasn't a traumatic head injury. That Averil was, physically speaking, more or less okay. But that meant something a little more difficult to deal with.

"I thought the memory loss might be voluntary."

"Huh?"

"Kiddo, you just said it yourself. You don't want to remember. You forced yourself to forget who you are, God knows why, so you probably don't really need a CAT scan. It's not common, but I've heard of this before. You deliberately locked away your memory. You could remember if you want to. It's all still in there. You just aren't allowing yourself access**.**"

Averil was breathing way too deeply. "I guess I already knew I was screwed up," he muttered.

"Why don't you go sit down? I'll get these off the iron when they're done."

"No, don't worry about it. About me. I'll take care of the dishes, then I'll get out of your hair."

"What?"

"I wanted to do something to thank you for letting me stay here last night. But once I find my own clothes, I'll go. I know you weren't exactly asking for trouble, and I'm nothing if not a pain in the ass. Sorry I disrupted things for you, but I'll leave and you can get back to your regularly scheduled life."

Harold stared at him. "Where are you planning to go?"

"Hadn't figured that out yet," Averil said with stiff dignity. "I'm working on it."

"Idiot," Zack snorted, walking past the boy to put his plate in the sink.

"What did you say?"

"I said you're an idiot. You're not leaving."

Averil just gaped at Zack for a minute, then turned to Harold, who shrugged. He couldn't help the little smirk on his face. He should have known to expect that from Zack.

"Like you said, kid, we didn't ask for trouble. But it showed up on the doorstep anyway. My neighbour would tell me it's fate. There's no reason for you to leave quite so soon, all right? Why don't you stay here for a few days? You might decide you're ready to let your memories come back. You've clearly got some issues to deal with, and it's far better for you to work them out here than sleeping under a newspaper at a bus stop, you know? I'm not going to call the cops and report some missing kid turning up at my house, all right? For all I know, you're here because you were running away from some kind of abuse, and I don't want to shove you right back into some kind of mess. But it doesn't sit right with me, the idea of cutting you loose to go it alone. I want you to stay here. Just for a few days. All right?"

Averil was shaking his hand, looking to be on the verge of tears. "I don't understand. I don't understand why you're helping me. I can't be worth it. I just can't."

"Not for you to decide, is it?" Zack grunted at him. "We're the ones who know whether it's worth it or not."

"What do you want me to do?" Averil asked humbly. "I mean, if I stay here, should I be, I dunno, reading religious texts about the sanctity of my life or something?"

Harold stared at his strange guest for a moment, then he started howling with laughter.

Averil scowled at him, apparently hurt by being laughed at.

"You are the damndest thing, boy," he chuckled, "but I think I like you."

"What _am_ I supposed to do?" He sounded pleading, scared.

Zack didn't smile, but then he never smiled. Probably didn't know _how_ to smile. "You're a good cook. You can make lunch."

Averil howled in outrage, but Zack made no response. Harold sat back to watch. Oh, it was worth it, all right. He was an old man, there wasn't much to hold his interest anymore—but this situation had serious entertainment potential.

* * *

_I'm probably a day or two early putting this up, but oh well. I plan to do most of my updates on Fridays, just so people know._

_This is something I forgot to mention last chapter: I want everyone to bow in awe of my wonderful and amazing friend The Wandering Reader. She goes above and beyond the call of the beta. Seriously. There are colour-coded notes and long-distance phone calls. Without her support and enthusiasm (and skill as an editor) this story would not be here as you see it. It would be far lower in quality, for one thing. All hail the great Wandering Reader!_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

_January 28th_

The door swung open so hard that the doorstop squealed in protest and snapped off from the baseboard.

"Hey, Finn, are you here?" Caleb called, catching the rebounding door with his shoulder and pivoting to get inside without hurting the body he carried.

"Yeah, just got back from work," came a muffled sound from their bedroom, and Finn's blond head peered out. "What's with the banging— oh my god! What happened to Lee?" he cried out, running into the room. He'd clearly been in the process of changing clothes, since his jeans were unbuttoned and he was carrying his shirt instead of wearing it.

"Nothing, he's fine," Caleb said, keeping his shoulder turned so Finn couldn't get at the boy. Finn hovered at his shoulder like an annoying insect, trying to see if Lee was bleeding or something. "He just fell asleep in the car, that's all. Be quiet, let him sleep."

"He must be _exhausted_, I can't believe he's still asleep after you carried him all the way up—"

"If you're going to be obnoxious, you think you could get the door?" Caleb growled, arriving at the bedroom that Lee currently had all to himself.

Finn opened it without a word, meaning he actually was worried about the kid. Caleb put Lee down on his bed and backed up quietly, hoping he'd stay asleep and just sleep all night. Because Finn was right, much as Caleb hated for Finn to be right about anything—Lee was exhausted. Anytime he wasn't actively out looking for Averil, he was staying up late fretting about his twin. For him to fall asleep while they were driving around looking for him, and then not waking up through all this commotion . . . Lee muttered something, and turned his face into his pillow. Caleb dragged Finn out and shut the door.

"I'm going back out," he announced. "Unless you need the car back?"

"No, I don't need it. But it's getting late," Finn frowned at him. "You don't honestly think you're going to find him this way?"

"Not really, but I had to promise the kid I'd keep looking so he'd come back here and go to bed."

"He wouldn't know if you didn't," Finn said, for once not joking. "But you're going anyway." Then he grinned up at his roommate. "You're such a _good guy_, Cal."

"If you say so," Caleb muttered. "I'm wasting time. See you."

"I'm coming," Finn said, _finally_ putting the damn shirt on. "Just wait here while I get my coat, Big Daddy."

Caleb had been hoping that particular nickname was a one-time thing. He'd spent the last two weeks hoping that Finn would get bored with it. It persisted.

"No, you stay here with the kid. Feed him if he wakes up."

"And leave you all alone, Tough Stuff?" Finn pouted, giving him that fluttery-eyelash thing he hated from the bottom of his soul. Finn _would_ pick this moment to do up his jeans.

"Why would I need your car, if I could take my bike? Someone's coming with me already."

Finn gave him an exceptionally guarded look. "You got the police involved?'

"Of course I didn't," he snapped. _That_ situation was driving him nuts—he'd been prepared to ignore Lee saying not to call the cops in case it made trouble for Averil. He'd go around Lee if he had to. But he'd acquiesced when he'd walked into his bedroom to find Finn packing a bag and preparing to _leave_. Finn clearly had a big problem with the police. "It's just a friend of mine."

Finn dropped the man-of-mystery thing and went back to being annoying. "Should I be shocked that you have friends?"

Caleb let out a short-lived growl. "He's in my math class. He was in the library the other day and heard you and I talking about Averil. Said he wanted to help. Turns out that his girlfriend is subbing at the high school, she had Averil in a class."

"Does this hero have a name?" Finn asked dryly.

"Matt," Caleb said, getting impatient to be gone. "Matt Decker. And you've heard Lee talking about his girlfriend, he actually likes English now because she's such a good teacher or something. Something Elda?"

Finn suddenly went still. "Claire Elda?"

"Yeah, that's it. You know her?"

"No, no," he laughed, flapping his hands to emphasize his point. "I heard Lee talking about her, and it just took me a second to remember the name. So this Matt must be a really nice guy, huh? And you're going to be all alone in _my_ car with him, at _night_ . . . I'm so jealous, Cal."

"You're such a dumbass," he snorted. "Anyway, I'm out of here. Take care of the kid."

"Mommy to the rescue!" Finn said cheerfully, heading for the kitchen. "I'll make him hot chocolate!"

"Whatever, dumbass," Caleb said as he exited. Two could play the nickname game.

He really _was_ a dumbass if he thought Caleb believed him. He could always tell when Finn was lying, and that perv was lying now. He knew Claire Elda. Maybe it wasn't any of Caleb's business, but that didn't mean he couldn't become good friends with Matt Decker.

Assuming, of course, that Decker didn't laugh himself sick and refuse to come when Caleb picked him up in a powder-blue Volkswagen Beetle.

* * *

Lee woke up in stages. First he registered sounds nearby, and his nearly-conscious brain dismissed it as one of his roommates. Next, still with his eyes closed, he noticed that it was true-dark around him, not just the dark of closed window blinds. Nighttime, then. He might have let his weary, protesting body go back to sleep, lulled by the knowledge that it was late, he was tired, and the building was not currently burning down around him. In fact, he was so wiped out that even his worries over Averil and Sara might not have roused him.

But the worries, when combined with his growling stomach, got him up. He was starving. Well, okay, not _starving_ starving. He'd been _real_ starving a couple of times when he and Averil had been on the streets, and he definitely wasn't _real_ starving right now. But he was pretty hungry, and the homeless experience had taught him a lot about instant gratification.

He shambled out of his room, recalling with a sense of surreality that he had fallen asleep in Finn's car while Caleb was driving him around. He had no idea how he'd gotten upstairs.

Finn was puttering around the kitchen, making something that involved chocolate and more bowls and pans than Lee had thought they owned. "Hello, sleepyhead."

"Um," Lee managed to get out, shuffling past Finn for a glass of water to wash away the cobwebs in his brain. "Where's Caleb?"

"Driving around," Finn answered with a shrug.

Lee felt a deep stab of guilt, looking at the clock and thinking that Caleb had been gone for at least an hour. "I didn't mean for . . . I hope he comes back soon."

Finn whipped his cell phone out of his back pocket, punched rapidly at the keypad, and shoved it back into his jeans—he typed faster than anyone Lee ever knew. "I told him he can come back home," he said. Then he sighed happily. "The advent of text messaging changed the course of my existence."

Lee realized he was just sort of staring. "I am way too tired to respond to your crazy," he finally pronounced, and looked at the mess Finn was making of the kitchen. "You're not making real food, are you?" he asked hopefully.

"Afraid not," Finn said, still cheerful. "Cheesecake. _Chocolate_ cheesecake."

"Oh. Um. Who's going to eat it?"

It was a well-established fact that Caleb refused to eat chocolate in general, despite Finn's repeated pronouncements that real men loved chocolate. Lee would do his part, sure, but that still left 7/8ths of a cheesecake. Lee prayed that Finn wasn't going to eat the rest himself. The sugar high would last for days.

"I'm going to give it to Molly and Yvonne," he said. "I'm also making chocolate chip scones, and I'm going to share those with our neighbours. But I'll save some for you!"

"Thanks," Lee sighed, rummaging in the fridge and coming up with a half-eaten can of ravioli that he sort of remembered opening about a week ago. And a can of Mountain Dew, from the plentiful supply that he and Finn kept stocked. Caleb was more of a vitamin water guy.

"I was going to make you something," Finn said. "I just got distracted."

"Eh, it's fine."

"But how can I keep telling Caleb I'm a good mommy if I don't make dinner?" he pouted.

Lee gaped at him again. "That was a joke, right?"

Finn gave him a mysterious smile and stirred a bowl of something.

"Right?"

"At least go sit down. I'll warm this up for you."

"Finn, you're not actually going to start calling yourself 'Mommy' are you?" Lee asked weakly as the blond pushed him into the living room to sit down. "You're suicidal, aren't you? You _want_ Caleb to strangle you to death."

"Something like that," Finn said agreeably, dumping the can of ravioli into a bowl. Then he wrinkled his nose and took a cautious sniff. "Uh, Lee? You might not want this. There's something green . . ."

Someone knocked on the door. Lee left Finn to curiously poke at the unidentified substance while he answered the knock. It was Yuri, holding a grocery bag.

"Uh, hi," he said, using his free hand to adjust his glasses.

"Hey, Yuri. Come in."

"Thanks. Are you okay, Lee?"

"Fine, why?'

"You must have just woken up. Finn was supposed to tell you to come over when you woke up." Yuri dropped the bag on their folding-cum-dining table, and Lee saw Finn flinch.

"You weren't going to tell me, were you?" Lee asked him.

Finn gave him a weak smile. "I was going to. After you ate. I wanted to make sure you were okay first."

"Well, on that note," Yuri said, opening the bag and beginning to pull out things wrapped in tinfoil, "I thought it was our turn to bring something over. It's roast beef and baked potatoes."

"Wow, thanks," Lee said enthusiastically.

"You haven't had any more time to cook than we have," Finn pointed out, "with all of Sara's doctor's appointments."

Yuri bit his lip for a moment, then shook his head and crumpled up the plastic bag he'd brought dinner in. "They're only letting family stay with her, so I haven't been going. I was alone all afternoon, so I got bored and started cooking. I'm not that great at it, but the roast turned out okay. So, enjoy. Lee, you can come by tomorrow, if you'd rather."

Lee was fuming over the stupid hospital where Sara was getting her tests done. It kind of made sense that they wouldn't let Lee in, but why would they keep Yuri out?

"Tom must be pissed," he said. "Has he threatened to sue the hospital yet?"

"About twenty times," Yuri said with a little affectionate smile. "I told him getting Sara's tests done was more important." Suddenly, his eyes were full of tears. "Actually, Lee, you'd better come over right now. Tom's in shock, so he probably won't even say anything rude to you. Sara could really, really use a friend right now." He gusted out a very shaky sigh and tried to cover his tears by moving into the kitchen to throw away the plastic bag he'd been twisting in his hands.

"Yuri, what is it?" Finn asked quietly, getting out of his way.

"The tests came up with something," Lee realized, noticing how dull his voice sounded. "Didn't they?"

"She has leukemia," Yuri said, leaning over the sink with his hands braced on either side. He was staring down the drain like it contained some precious jewel. "I don't know what kind, exactly, but I know it's the kind that only gives her a fifty percent chance."

"Fifty per— fifty percent chance at _what_?" Lee gasped out.

"At getting well."

"What are you saying?" he whispered, feeling his heart hammering.

"I'm saying that she's equally likely to die or live, Lee," Yuri said softly. "Treatment is going to start immediately, but we won't know if it's working for a few months. And if it isn't working . . . They say she has about six months to turn things around. If she doesn't go into remission by the end of the summer, they'll stop treatment."

Lee couldn't breathe. He felt sick, scared, panicked, and he felt like he was choking. His brain spent a wild second wondering if this was what Averil felt like all the time and suddenly not blaming him for trying to get away from it. Then his legs went into action and he was running for the door.

"_Sara_—"

He slammed into something very large and unyielding, and nearly fell over. A large pair of hands caught him and held him, and he looked up to see Caleb looking down at him with a stern expression.

"Caleb," he gasped, and tried to get past him, but the hands wouldn't let him go.

"You left the door open. I heard," Caleb said gruffly.

"Let me—I have to see her—"

"You have to calm down first."

"But she's—"

"She's scared enough without you bursting in her door looking like a lunatic." Caleb held him in place with nothing more than his hands on Lee's arms. He couldn't have broken that insanely strong grip if he tried, but he didn't try. He just looked down at the floor and took a deep breath.

"Okay," he said. "Let me go."

"In a minute."

"Let _go_, Caleb."

He did, and Lee walked—calmly, slowly, walked—to the next apartment and let himself inside. Caleb, standing barely inside the front door, surveyed the wreck of their kitchen, covered in half-finished dessert and tinfoil blobs, and raked his hand through his hair. Yuri started to move for the door, but then Tom appeared. He looked angry.

"I'm giving them a few minutes to themselves," he grunted. "Against my better judgment."

"Maybe we should eat," Yuri said, putting a hand on Tom's shoulder and pulling him inside so he could shut the door.

"Not hungry," Tom muttered.

Yuri looked hopelessly at the other two guys, but they both shook their heads. It did spoil one's appetite a bit to find out that someone you cared about might be dying.

"I have Johnny Walker," Finn said in a very nonchalant voice.

They looked at one another cautiously.

Caleb strode into the kitchen and started getting out some glasses. "Knew you were good for _something_, Finn."

* * *

Lee didn't know how long he'd been sitting on Tom's sofa, but he didn't care. His hand moved almost absently through Sara's hair while his thoughts were caroming in every direction at a million miles an hour. He had kept himself together on the surface, acting like he wasn't on the verge of panic. Caleb was right, Sara didn't need him crying and shouting. He had to be strong for her.

The door opened.

Tom slipped inside, and looked right at him. Lee was used to seeing disapproval in Tom's eyes—he was a kid, he was a delinquent, he was just shy of homeless—but he didn't see it now. Tom was looking at him like he'd never seen him before.

Lee looked down, self-conscious about Tom's silence. Sara had been pretending to be strong for her brother, but once Tom had gone away she'd broken down. Lee had held her while she cried, and he didn't complain. He got her some tissues and a glass of water, but other than that he'd spent all his time sitting here on the sofa, holding her. She'd finally fallen asleep, and he didn't have the heart to wake her. So he put her head in his lap and sat still, except the hand that slowly stroked her hair.

He'd told her that he'd be there for her, in whatever way she needed. He didn't care what she asked, he'd do it. She'd cried and said he shouldn't. Said she didn't want to _impose_ on him, of all the stupid things to say. She didn't want to be a burden. But she never could be that.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said softly, still not moving. Sara didn't stir, sleeping peacefully.

Tom was still standing there, still hadn't said anything. Lee suddenly figured out what they'd been doing next door, but he didn't complain, since drinking apparently made Tom less rude.

"I told her that I'm staying. That I'll be here for her. I promised."

Tom let loose a sigh of epic proportion. "Promised, huh?" He finally moved, walking past Lee to go into the kitchen that looked exactly like the one next door. He splashed some water on his face. "Why?'

"Because . . . Sara's important to me," he said at last. "I'll do whatever I can to help her, you know that." He looked down at her, let his fingers run over her cheek, then pulled his hand away. "She was worried about being a burden to me."

"Yeah? Maybe you don't know much about cancer, but it isn't a fucking cakewalk, kid."

Lee set his jaw and met Tom's eyes. "I know that. I also know that Sara couldn't be a burden to me if she tried. I'm here because I want to be. And I'm not leaving. Not ever. No matter what happens. I'm staying."

Tom said something, but it was muffled by the towel he was using to dry off his face. He was probably just swearing, anyway. When he pulled the towel away, there was an odd grimace on his face. Was he actually trying to _smile_?

"Yuri said you'd say that."

"I just want you to know that I'm seri—"

"Look, kid, you don't have to say anything, all right? I heard it all from them already." He jerked his thumb at the wall separating their apartments. "They said you're important to Sara, and that she needs someone she can lean on. So I'm not going to argue, all right? You're staying. I get it. I don't have to like it, but if you're what my sister needs to get through this, then I've got nothing to say."

Lee just stared at him, stunned. Times like this, it was almost like Tom actually loved Sara instead of just tolerating his little sister.

"That said, you _are_ leaving, for now. It's the middle of the fucking night and she should be in bed."

Tom came over and picked Sara up out of Lee's lap.

"Oh. Okay. Where's Yuri?"

"Asleep on your couch. I didn't want to wake him. Sorry."

"No, I was just wondering. Um, goodnight."

"Get out, kid," Tom said, sounding weirdly gentle.

"Be nice, Tom," Sara mumbled, and the two boys looked sharply at her, but she wasn't really awake enough to call it that.

Lee jumped up and ran for the door. "Uh . . ." He turned around but looked at the ground. "Thanks." He hurried back to his own apartment as quickly as possible. He wasn't about to do anything to damage this tenuous truce.

Yuri was, indeed, asleep on the sofa, looking sort of peaceful. Someone had taken off his glasses and set them beside the empty glass that was on the floor near his dangling hand. Caleb and Finn were both sitting on the floor, resting their backs against the wall, passing a bottle back and forth in a heavy silence. Neither of them seemed all that drunk, just very serious. Finn was blinking a lot.

"Hey, kid," Caleb greeted him.

"What did you guys do to Tom?"

Finn smiled up at him, and it was even more sugary-sweet than usual. "We were just telling him that it was about Sara's needs and not his, that's all." Something in his posture or maybe his expression gave Lee the sudden urge to scratch behind his ears and see if he'd purr, but he resisted the temptation. "Come here, sit. You could probably use one of these." He wiggled an empty glass.

"Uh, no, I'm good."

"Look, Caleb's not even shouting at me about not giving the kid alcohol."

Lee sat down and took a pull from the bottle. Finn generally had good stuff. He was too young to know what constituted good stuff, technically, but oh well. Besides, he just found out his . . . His . . . His something-very-special-but-currently-unidentified-relationship was in danger of being lost to leukemia. On top of his twin brother running away two weeks ago. He could be forgiven this once.

Caleb frowned at him. "Go easy, there."

"Oh, please," Finn tutted. "I had to buy _you_ alcohol until two months ago."

Caleb glared at him. "When did I ask you to?"

"Hey, Finn?" Lee asked, his mouth feeling muffled. He was still tired, still hungry, and the pleasant alcohol burn was already snaking its way through him. "How old _are_ you, anyway?"

Finn let out a breathy little laugh. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" Caleb growled.

Lee passed him the bottle, thinking this might be one of those conversations that raised Caleb's blood pressure to dangerous levels.

"I don't really keep track," Finn laughed, flapping his hands. "I forget."

"When's your birthday?" Lee asked, rolling his eyes.

"December twelfth."

"We missed it?" Lee felt a stab of guilt. "Sorry."

"I didn't tell you," Finn shrugged. "Only reason we knew about Caleb's birthday is because I asked Molly, from the management office."

Caleb twitched. "You're a nosy bastard and I'm going to have Molly fired. And I refuse to have a birthday the same month as you, so you're changing yours."

Finn just grinned at him. "You can't _change_ your birthday, Hot Shot."

"Do not _call me that_!" Caleb hollered, punching him hard on the shoulder before handing him the bottle with slightly too much force. "What _year_ were you born?"

"Oh. Nineteen eighty-four."

"You just turned twenty-five, dumbass."

"So I did," he giggled. "You're so clever, Cal."

Yeah, this was definitely one of those blood pressure moments. Maybe Caleb should be on medication for that. At least while he lived with Finn.

* * *

Caleb was extremely happy to finally get to bed. He'd had practice today and he was wiped out. He'd been ready to sleep an hour ago, but he wasn't about to leave Finn and Lee alone with the alcohol. He never had been able to sleep if the rest of the household wasn't in bed; ever since junior high, he'd been the one going around to make sure the doors were locked and lights off at night. Now, he lay on his back, silent and still, waiting to see if Finn would fall asleep. Some nights, Caleb was sure, Finn just waited for him to fall asleep so he could get back up to study and then pretend in the morning that he'd only been awake for an hour. Caleb was hoping that since Finn was a little drunk, he'd sleep.

"Hey, Cal?"

Caleb closed his eyes and tried not to groan aloud. Not only was he not sleeping, he wanted to _talk_ now? They _never_ talked in here. It was weird enough just sleeping in the same room.

"Oh, Cal, _baby_ . . ."

"I will kill you if you even _think_ about saying that ever again," he snarled.

"You were hurting my feelings, ignoring me like that."

"Drop the act, Finn, I'm tired. What?"

There was a long silence.

"Don't bother me if you're not even going to say anything."

"I was going to say . . . This is too much. For Lee, I mean. It's not fair to ask him to deal with Averil and Sara, both."

"Yeah, well, life isn't fair. Seriously? That's why you're keeping me awake?"

"If we could get Averil back, that would make things easier on him."

Caleb kept his eyes on the ceiling and tried not to look as tense as he felt.

"Let's call the police and report Ril missing."

Caleb gave up trying. He sat up in a rush so he could glare at Finn. "Yeah, that's a great idea. For one thing, he's legally adult and he left a note and the cops will think you're wasting their time. But that's not really the issue, anyway. How is it going to help Lee to get Ril back and lose you?"

"Lose me?" Finn asked with a weak giggle. "What are you talking about, Cal?"

"Like you don't know? You can tell me as often as you want that you _weren't_ packing a bag that day, but I'm not buying what you're selling. I'm not an idiot. If we call the cops, you're going to leave."

"And Lee gets Ril back."

"And I'm telling you that won't _help_, dumbass. I don't know why, because you're goddamn obnoxious, noisy asshole, but that kid cares about you. He'd be upset if you were gone. Which you can't really complain about, can you? _You're_ the one who pulled off the heroic rescue and brought them here."

"You really think I'm a hero? How sweet of you!"

"I don't think you're a hero. _Lee_ thinks you're a hero. I think you're a dumbass. The point is, he'd miss you."

* * *

_Caleb heard keys rattle in the lock and rolled his eyes. Oh, hooray, his roommate was home to be noisy and distracting. He was really going to kill that bitch Yvonne one of these days. Three months down, ten to go before he was free of this guy._

"_Honey, I'm home!" Finn sang out, opening the door._

"_I will kill you, bastard," Caleb started, but all the heat left his voice and he trailed off into startled silence when Finn held the door open for a couple of young kids._

"_Look what I found outside!" Finn said cheerfully._

"_What do you mean, __found__?"_

"_Come on in," Finn said, ignoring Caleb to lead the two boys through the living room. The shorter one with brown hair looked dirty and tough. The skinnier one with black hair looked ill, all pale and with a constant cough he was trying to muffle in his sleeve. "Bathroom's right here and this is my room, you can use it. Whenever you're done, let me know and I'll scrounge up something to eat." He turned around when the door closed on the two boys to face Caleb. "Hey, don't worry about it, I'll vouch for them. Listen, Cal, I just wanted to let them come inside and warm up for a while, maybe take a shower." Finn frowned. "I don't think they've eaten for a while."_

"_So where the hell did you 'find' them?"_

"_You have to watch your language around the young, impressionable children, Hot Shot," Finn laughed._

_Caleb narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. The story leaked out of Finn when Caleb got up a good glare. How he'd seen the brown-haired kid being chased by a couple of scary-looking security guards, how he'd felt bad for the kid and helped him escape. How it turned out that the boy—his name was Lee—was shoplifting asthma medication for his brother. How Finn had transported Lee to where his brother was waiting and found out that they were sleeping in an abandoned basement with no electricity. Finding out that the exposure was making Lee's twin brother very sick. Deciding to bring them back to the apartment to get cleaned up and warmed up and fed._

_The two boys were polite and respectful and humble. The sick one, Averil, was near-silent unless it was to apologize for coughing too much. The determined-looking Lee, the thief, apologized for being a nuisance and intruding on Caleb and promised they'd leave as soon as Averil had eaten—like he didn't care if he personally ate or not, so long as his brother did. Finn was his cheerful and annoying self, hovering around the boys like some kind of mother hen._

_It was a good thing that Lee had stolen that asthma medication because it got put to use when a bad coughing fit led to an attack. Caleb got to see how much the two boys cared about one another when Averil started to fall and Lee caught him and held him until he could breathe again. He heard Lee say that he was trying to find a job but that it was hard when you were only fourteen and didn't have an address. He explained that they spent a lot of time in the library trying to learn, since they didn't attend school to avoid being caught. How they had resorted to this kind of life to avoid getting put in the system and being stuck in different places with people who didn't care about them. Then Finn made Averil go sleep in his bed, because he really looked like hell._

_Once Averil had gone into the bedroom, Lee admitted that if Averil got any sicker, he was going to turn himself in for shoplifting and let them take Averil away to someplace he'd be cared for._

"_You'd be separated," Finn said, and frowned for the first time that Caleb had ever seen._

_Lee looked like he might cry, but he nodded. "I'd accept it, if someone could help him better than I could. But only then. I've heard such awful things about kids put in foster care . . ."_

"_Those are worst-case scenarios, you know," Caleb spoke up, making his one and only contribution to the conversation. "There are a lot of people who take in foster children because they care about making a difference. Most of them treat the kids right. Some of them even love the kids."_

_Finn had given him a very searching look, but what did Caleb care? It wasn't like his past was a gigantic secret, it was just something he didn't talk about. It wasn't like he was really talking about it now, he just wanted this stupid kid to understand that the suffering he was going through was unnecessary._

"_Maybe," Lee said. "But I wouldn't give them my brother unless I was sure."_

_Finn told Lee he might as well go to bed, they could sleep here for the night. As soon as Lee had accepted it, again with humility and good manners, he turned to Caleb with a grin._

"_They're housebroken and they don't take up much room. Can I keep them?"_

"_You can't be serious."_

"_I'm never serious, you know that. I just thought we could let Lee use our address to find a job."_

_Caleb glared at him. "If we let him use our address, we might as well just let him move in, right? You want to give the two of them your room until they can get out on their own. You know what? Whatever. I don't care. But if your bed doesn't fit in my room, you're the one who's sleeping on the couch."_

"_I knew you wanted to share a room with me, Cal," Finn sighed with pleasure._

"_Soon as they can get a job, they start paying rent."_

"_I'm sure Lee would do that whether we asked him to or not."_

"_You sure they're going to agree to stay?"_

"_No. But I hope they do."_

_In the morning, Averil had asked politely if he could cook them breakfast to say thank you for letting them stay the night. He was an excellent cook. Caleb looked at Finn, shrugged, and said this was good enough to be Averil's portion of the rent._

_The two boys were dumbfounded by the invitation. It didn't make any sense that two complete strangers were willing to be so generous with them. Caleb wasn't sure he would have, on his own. In fact, until the previous night, he'd been sure that Finn wouldn't have. But Finn was the one who wanted this. Selfish, dishonest Finn. Something about these two kids had him opening up. Caleb shrugged and said it was fine so long as they didn't play shitty music in the middle of the night._

_They stayed._

* * *

Finn was staring at his bed and tracing a pattern into the sheet with his finger. He looked far away.

"You don't have any right to get upset," Caleb said. "You brought them here, so it's your own damn fault for becoming their friend. It's too late to say you can just go, exchange yourself for Averil. It doesn't work like that."

Finn was silent, his wide eyes still on the curlicues he was tracing into the sheet.

"Look, I don't care why you're afraid of the cops. It's got nothing to do with me. You haven't done anything while I've known you. Your problem is that you're stuck on something that happened in the past."

"So?" Finn asked harshly.

"So it's the past, and the past isn't part of your life now. Grow the fuck up, Finn, and pay attention to what's right in front of you," Caleb said, too tired to snarl. He flopped back down into bed and put his arms under his head, going back to staring at the ceiling. He thought he heard Finn laugh, but Finn always laughed when he wasn't supposed to.

"It bothers you, doesn't it?"

"If you mean _you_ bother me, then yes."

"It bothers you that I don't like police," Finn said.

"Maybe. Little hard to swallow, you know. Since I was raised by them, and I was thinking about being one."

"I know you said your dad was a police officer. But he died when you were young, didn't he?"

He wanted to have _this_ conversation? Right after Caleb had said Finn's past was his own business, Finn decided it was time to talk about Caleb's? He was obviously trying to piss him off. Deliberately. To make Caleb too mad to observe Finn too closely. He wouldn't take the bait, he decided. He was too drunk to get in a fight. If Finn wanted to talk, they'd talk. "I was fourteen. His best friend had been on the force, and the friend's daughter became a lawyer. Amy's the one who took me in. She was already raising her sister, she didn't mind raising Tanya's friend, too."

Finn sat up to gawk at him. "Tanya? Your girlfriend, that Tanya?"

Caleb scowled at the ceiling. "I just call her that. Easier than trying to explain everything. She's just . . . someone I'm really indebted to. I lost it for a while, when my folks died. Would have ended up in jail if not for her. So I started looking out for her."

"Do you love her?"

"Yeah. But it's complicated. I don't . . . she's only a kid."

"So more like your sister?"

"No. I've seen how Tom and Sara act. She's not like my sister. I can't call her my friend because that's not what it's like, either."

"But have you ever _kissed_ her, Cal?" he asked mockingly.

"No. Now quit acting like you're in junior high and shut the hell up. I'm trying to sleep."

"Do you _want_ to kiss her?"

"Finn, I swear to God I will shove your pillow down your throat just to make you shut up. Go. To. Sleep."

Finally, _finally_, the idiot closed his fat mouth.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_Here is a picture of Finn's car. Just look at it and try to tell me it isn't the car Fai Flourite would drive if he visited our world. www (dot) worldofstock (dot) com (slash) slides (slash) TRC2799 (dot) jpg_

_Also, I created a floorplan of the guys' apartment, just to help everyone get a better picture of where the action is taking place. It is a very long link to type out, so instead I just included the link in my profile. Hit me up with a message if something on the floorplan doesn't make sense!_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

_February 1st_

"Miss Dovie, Miss Dovie, Miss Dovie, Miss Do—"

"Yes, Thomas, what is it?" she asked with a divine level of patience, picking the boy up as he zoomed toward her, and swinging him around. "Lucy didn't steal Naveen's toys again, did she?"

"No, Miss Dovie," Thomas said, shrieking with laughter until she set him down again. "There's a man looking for you."

"There is? Who is it?"

Alex stood silently just out of her sight in the doorway, smirking. This would be fun.

"I don't know."

"But he comes to visit me all the time, Thomas. You know Alex." She was kneeling down to look Thomas in the eyes, just one of the many reasons the kids loved her so much. He smirked harder. She _would_ assume it was him. And thank God she did, if there were _other_ men coming to see her at work he'd have to hurt somebody.

"It isn't Alex. Alex always calls you 'Dee.' The other man said only annoying brats would call you that, and then he said you're a stupid pigeon if you let them—"

Dovie stood up so abruptly that her hair fell out of the kerchief she'd tied it up in, and long brown tresses started to slither down her back. "Pigeon?"

"Yeah. Miss Dovie, I think he called you stupid . . ."

She ran out of the room and flew right past Alex, spotted the man standing behind him. "Ian!" she shrieked, and flung herself onto him. He barely managed to stay upright, and fell back into the wall with a grunt, trying to hold her up, too. "Ian, I can't believe it's you!"

Ian rolled his eyes at Alex, but his face was glowing too much for Alex to believe he was anything less than happy. "Hey, sis." He grunted and tried to push her away so he could get his feet under him, but that wasn't happening.

"Dee, you might wanna get off him. You're not exactly a featherweight, you know," Alex drawled.

Ian threw a sharp look at him. "How would you know?"

She finally got off her brother, but only so she could smack his chest. "Honestly, Ian. Alex and I are _married_."

"I know, but—"

"Ugh, you're worse than the kids. Okay. When two people love each other very, very much, they—"

"I _know_!" Ian said in panic, shoving his hand over her mouth. "Just stop. I don't want to _hear_ about it, that's all. You're my baby sister, Pigeon."

Alex just stayed where he was, enjoying the show.

"About that," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Don't call me stupid where the kids can hear you."

"It ain't my fault our parents gave you such a crappy name that's so easy to make fun of," he protested. "And you are stupid," he added, but with an affectionate smile. He reached his hand out and yanked her kerchief (which had become something of a moot point), pulling it nearly off and making her squeal. "At least I don't call you Dee."

"She likes being called Dee," Alex defended himself. He stepped forward and batted his wife's flailing hands away from her hair. "Just hold still, let me get it."

She sighed and went still while he gathered her hair up, the whole gigantic waterfall of it, and started tying the cloth back over the silky brown mess.

"You ever thought about cutting that rat's nest off?" Ian asked her with a smirk. "Hell of a lot more practical than doing . . . Whatever you're doing, there."

"I like my hair," she said firmly.

"Yeah? What about you, Ponytail? You going to chop off that affront to humanity soon?"

"Oh, that's my name this week?" Alex asked without concern. Actually, he was going to, not that it was Ian's business. Lawyers didn't get to have ponytails. The looks he'd gotten from his professors made it pretty clear _that_ was Unwritten Rule 1. "Clever one, Ian."

"I had to stop calling you brat sometime. It just seemed wrong once you put the ring on her finger."

"How generous," Dovie said enthusiastically, with that way she had that made Alex wonder if she was actually joking or not. Hair fixed, she stepped forward to embrace her brother again. "I'm so glad to see you," she said, hugging him so hard she nearly had to break her neck to look up at him. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

Ian just patted her on the back and smiled. "I wanted to check on you. You know how you attract trouble."

"That's why I married Alex," she said, and she let go of Ian so she could come to him and let him slide his arm around her waist. By his side . . . that was where he liked Dee. Ian was right, trouble did seem to find her, probably because she had zero common sense. Only now it was Alex's job to save her, instead of her Ian's. "So, brother, what are you up to, these days? It feels like it's been forever since we last heard from you!"

"Ah . . . I'm just working at my friend's bakery again," he shrugged. "Still can't figure my life out, I guess. Anyway, I was getting restless and Brian told me to take some time off and come see you guys."

"And you didn't call?"

"Do I ever call? It would just give you time to run away before I could show up."

"I wouldn't!" Dovie protested. Then her eyes flew wide. "But I have to clean! Oh, Alex, the house is a mess!" She pulled away from him to start gesticulating with her hands in a panic. "We can't have a guest over until I have time to organize the kitchen, and I don't know if we have an extra blanket for him, and—oh, Ian, you should have called, you jerk—"

"Dee, stop," Alex commanded, putting himself behind her so he could hold her close and pin down her arms before she accidentally hit something. "The house is fine. We spent the whole weekend doing cleaning projects, remember? Besides, Ian's place is probably disgusting, so a pigsty would be a step up for him."

"I can go back to "ugly brat" anytime," Ian suggested, crossing his arms. "I was being nice, but I don't have to."

Alex was feeling too warm and fuzzy from holding his wife to get into a real battle of wits with Ian, so he didn't try. He just changed the subject.

"You know how long it's been since Ian last visited? He didn't know about the new location," he said lightly. He didn't let Dovie turn around to look at him. He liked her where she was, snug in his arms, just fine. "He tracked me down on campus to ask me because he thought the school was still in the old place. I was done with classes so I brought him over."

"It's not me you oughta be worried about, sis," Ian said. "It's your husband. Be very worried. I know he tells you he's taking law classes, but he's actually just there to meet pretty girls. Pretty, pretty blond girls who are very interested in sex."

"She's taken, Ian," Alex sighed, and explained to his poor wife. "You remember Claire, right? Your friend from when you were in school?"

"Yes, of course! We still talk all the time, she's always been such a great friend, ever since we had that class together. You know, she's substitute teaching right now because she needs tuition money. She's real close to getting her PhD, she wants to be a psychiatrist so much. I'm excited for her, I really am. She's so smart, even if most people think she's weird. She—"

"Dee, honey. You're talking again."

"Oh, sorry."

"She wants to be a sex therapist," Ian snorted. "I don't think I want to know how you got to be friends with this girl."

"We just met at school, that's all. Why _are_ we talking about Claire?"

"Because she's the pretty blond girl that I'm supposedly consorting with. She was on campus today, having lunch with her guy, what's his name, Decker. We were chatting. Ian showed up. That's the story."

"Oh, how's Matt doing?"

"Pretty well, I think, now that Claire has convinced him he really is smart enough for college. He wasted so much time, thinking he couldn't do it. He's awfully old to be a junior."

"One of his friends showed up, too," Ian remarked.

"Oh, yeah. This dude Caleb, came to find Matt so they could study for their math class. Intense, wasn't he, Ian?"

"Maybe a little. Ponytail here has a man crush on him."

"What's a man crush?" Dovie asked innocently.

"God, Pigeon, I thought you weren't sheltered and ignorant anymore. Alex obviously isn't doing his job. Anyway, a man crush: It's a perfectly heterosexual obsession with another man."

"I do _not_ have a man crush," Alex objected.

"So this guy Caleb, he's _huge_, right? Six and a half feet tall, he's gotta be. Goes around looking pissed off, wears a lot of black. He's the all-star of the baseball team right now. Amazingly good, or so the Decker kid says. Had on a pair of boots that tipped me off he might have a motorcycle, so I asked him if he rides, and he does. He started talking about his bike, and Alex started drooling. It was gross. Thought I should get him a bib."

"Who has a man crush?" Alex shot back. "And I didn't drool. I just like motorcycles."

"I know, sweetie," Dovie said sympathetically. "And it's okay for you to have a man crush. I know you love me." She gave him a brief kiss, and that just wasn't long enough to be worth the effort, so Alex deepened the kiss a little.

"Damn straight I do," he mumbled.

"And you can have a motorcycle if you want one," she declared. "But you have to wear a helmet."

"Hmph."

"Dovie? Is everything okay? I've been looking for you, and Thomas said some man was—Oh, hi, guys!"

They all turned to see Sasha, the woman who ran the kindergarten, standing there looking surprised but pleased. Her husband was right behind her, wearing a big frown.

"How are you, Alex?" Sasha said, stepping forward to claim a kiss on the cheek. "You haven't been around nearly enough lately. Dovie's taking care of you, right? You're eating and sleeping and remembering that you are, in fact, a human being?"

"She doesn't trust me," Dovie pouted.

Alex just laughed and gave Sasha a hug. "I'm sorry. I miss you, too. But I'm sitting the bar exam in just a few months, and I'm working my ass off—"

"Language!" Sasha and Dovie said simultaneously.

Alex rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'm working really hard right now."

"And how are you, Ian?" Sasha asked with less familiarity. She didn't actually know Ian that well, Alex guessed. Dovie talked about him, but he was only in town once in a while, and he didn't really like kids so he didn't spend a lot of time at the school.

"I'm good," Ian shrugged. He nodded to Oscar, who was still standing in the back. "Hello."

Oscar stepped forward, looking disappointed. "I thought you were in trouble, Dee. I was going to beat somebody up for you."

"You can beat Ian up anytime you like," Dovie said in a generous tone.

"Can't believe you're still here, man," Ian said, clearly ignoring his sister. In truth, Alex sometimes had a hard time believing Oscar was here, too. "Don't you miss the old life?"

"I was thinking about that just last week," Oscar said wistfully. "One of the parents just ignored the fact that their kid had the stomach flu and brought them in anyway. I saw the kid sitting there on the ground outside while the other kids played, looking bad. I went to pick him up and bring him inside, and he puked all over me. I was thinking: I could be breaking somebody's kneecaps right now and making a lot of money."

An ear-piercing shriek of laughter rang out from the classroom, and Ian winced.

"I would," he growled.

"It's not quite that simple, of course," Oscar continued, smiling a bit at the deadly glare his wife was sending his way. "Kneecaps or vomit is only part of the equation. It's more like, I could be a bad guy and I get to have a lot of money, or I can let a kid puke on me and the pretty lady lets me sleep in her bed." He grinned at Sasha and swooped down to steal a kiss from her frowning lips. "I go with the pretty lady, every time."

Ian crossed his arms and harrumphed, but Alex smiled at his wife. "I have the same policy."

Sasha smacked Oscar on the arm, but she did let him kiss her. "Come on, we have to get back to the kids." She hooked her finger into his shirt and dragged him after her. "Whom you adore, and you know it. You're nothing but a gigantic kindergartner, yourself."

"I'd better go help," Dovie said ruefully.

"No," Sasha called back over her shoulder. "It's only five minutes until we're dismissed for the day, anyway. You go along with the boys, there, Oscar and I can handle the kids who stay late."

Dovie wouldn't hear of taking off early, so Alex and Ian went outside to have a smoke while they waited for her. They leaned against the low wall that surrounded the school yard.

"Quiet neighbourhood," Ian commented, flicking the ash off his cigarette.

"Yeah. Mostly residential. Just us and the antique store across the street."

"Hunh?" Ian found it pretty quickly, since it was the only house on the block with wrought iron on the windows. "Oh, that one. Antiques, huh? Little old lady heaven?"

"Nah, I've been in there. Not too many cute old ladies would want to shop there. The owner specializes in weird stuff, like occult paraphernalia, and weaponry."

"Really? Weapons?"

"Mmm," Alex confirmed while taking a drag. "She's got old army sabers and stuff." The smoke he released looked incredibly thick, in the cold air. "But she loves anything that had religious significance, too. She's kind of a psycho, but she's nice to the kids."

There was a cacophony of noise as the front door of the school opened and the students came pouring out. Ian winced. "God bless her, then."

"The rugrats aren't that bad, you know."

"So you say. I think quitting this place and getting back to school was the first smart thing you ever did."

"The first? You admitting I've done more than one smart thing?" Alex smirked.

"Married my sister. That was the second. I'll make a note of it if you ever get past two."

Alex ground his cigarette butt on the schoolyard wall to put it out, then dropped it into his coat pocket. Ian chuckled at him, but Alex didn't care. It was his wife's workplace, his childhood friend's school. He wasn't going to toss garbage around their place.

"Saving the environment doesn't count as number three."

"What if I convince _you_ to go back to school? Weren't you studying to be a lawyer, a few years ago?"

Ian scowled so deeply that the building across the street should have caught fire, and said nothing at all. Alex wanted to question him further, but a little girl was walking right past them, and he was distracted. She had long, wheat-coloured waves of hair, and the expression on her pale face was very troubled. Dovie came up beside him, and her face looked the same.

"Dee, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm just worried about Karen."

"Is that Karen?" Ian asked, nodding to the little girl, who walked to the outside of the wall and sat down on it, putting her chin in her hands.

"Yeah. She waits for her mother out here like this. She's so isolated from the other children. But I wish she wouldn't wait out here in the cold."

"Maybe you should talk to her momma. Have her tell the kid it's okay to wait inside."

Dovie shook her head sadly, and said nothing. Her frown deepened.

"What? Is something wrong with her mother?"

Dovie bit her lip, and Alex reached out for her hand. He didn't like her to be worried. She was too beautiful when she was happy to ever go through sadness.

"It's nothing we can prove."

"You and Sasha have talked about it?"

Dovie nodded, squeezing Alex's hand and leaning against him. "If she's hurting Karen, she doesn't leave any marks. But we can see the behaviour when she picks her up. She's awful cold to her. Distant. She's really strict."

"Do you know why?"

"Only a little . . . No, I guess not."

They watched the little girl. Karen sat on the wall in silence. Alone.

* * *

"So. Thanks."

Averil hadn't been paying attention to the other boy. "Huh? For what?"

Zack nodded at the sack of groceries in Averil's arms. Averil was quick to respond.

"Whatever. I wasn't going out of my way to help you or anything, I was just bored."

Zack had no response. Averil immediately felt guilty, but he didn't take it back. He couldn't swallow his pride, because at the moment, pride was all he had. He didn't know why he had this tendency to get defensive. He _had_ come to the store with Zack because he thought to help, but such acts spoke of weakness, didn't they?

He was already weak enough.

The cold air was beginning to bother him a lot. His problems with asthma, at least from what he'd seen in the past few weeks, were not that bad, but they were aggravated by the cold. His breathing shouldn't be this laboured from a simple walk to the grocery store around the corner, and his lungs were aching. As they were passing in front of the school, Averil shifted the bag to his hip, so he could hold it with one hand while he used the other to fumble in the pocket of his coat for his inhaler.

As he brought it out and put the end in his mouth, he felt eyes on him. He turned his head sharply to see a little girl, sitting on the fence. Her face was pinched and white and she looked cold, and Averil couldn't help but see a little of himself in her lost expression. He found himself coming to a halt and smiling softly at her.

"Hello."

"Hello," she responded politely.

"You look awfully cold. Shouldn't you go inside?"

She shook her head. "The other kids don't like to play with me."

"Oh? Why's that?"

She shrugged. "I'm different. I can't swap lunches with them, because I eat different food, and I can't run around during recess as much as they can. I like to sit quietly and read, you know. Mrs. Sasha says I'm an old soul. Anyway, I guess you know about that kind of stuff. Since you have it, too."

"Huh?"

She reached into her pocket and revealed an asthma inhaler. She gave Zack an inquiring glance, then turned back to Averil. Zack stood patiently and waited.

"Since you have friends, maybe yours isn't as bad as mine. Mine used to be worse, but my mom made me see a special kind of doctor who gave me herbal treatment and put me on a different diet. They said I'm better than before, but I have to be careful." Clearly, she did. Even as she spoke, she was becoming more pale and she was breathing hard. "I can't play with the other kids, when it's cold out."

"I can't either," Averil admitted. "You'd better use that, you know," he said, nodding to her medicine.

"I know," she said calmly, and did.

"You shouldn't sit out here in the cold, should you?" he asked her, feeling concern for her apparent lack of interest in her own wellbeing.

"I'm waiting for my mother. I don't like waiting with the other children. They're rude."

Averil turned and gave Zack a pleading look. Zack just sighed.

"Can I wait with you?" he asked the girl.

"Oh . . . Okay."

He sat quietly beside her, feeling rather peaceful about the whole thing. The concept of being the strong one in a situation had not occurred to him before. He felt good about trying to do something to help this little girl.

"Hey."

"My name is not hey," he informed Zack, not for the first time.

"I'm taking the groceries home. I'll come back."

Averil handed over the bag, making snarky comments in his mind about Zack's self-sacrificial attitude. Of _course_ he'd volunteer to take all the bags and allow Averil to do what he wanted. Of _course_ he would just accept Averil dumping the responsibility back on him after he'd volunteered to help.

But he wanted to help the little girl, too. She kept shooting him questioning glances, no doubt thinking that he was odd. Well, he was odd, but so what? She shouldn't be out here alone. Well, mostly alone. A group of adults, probably schoolteachers, were hanging around in the schoolyard with a couple of other kids. Didn't any of them see how sad this girl looked?

"What's your name?"

"Karen May. What's yours?"

"Averil Reed."

"Averil?"

"It's kind of dumb," he said, feeling himself blush. "It means April, like the month."

"Oh." She giggled, then she gasped and put her hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry. I wasn't laughing at you."

"You can, if you want. It's a funny name."

"I was laughing because your name is April and mine is May," she said.

"Oh." He chuckled a little, to make her feel better. She smiled, and it made him feel better to see it. She was such a serious-looking child.

"Hey."

"Oh, you're back. This is Zack," he said, waving a hand at the boy and grimacing to show her he wasn't important, just to make her giggle again. She did, and he felt even better. He'd found something he was good for, after all. Zack didn't seem to mind being made fun of.

"Well, good afternoon, gentleman," came a drawling voice behind them. They all turned to see a man crossing the yard in their direction, casually carrying a snow shovel. "Bit cold out, isn't it?"

"Uh, I guess," Averil answered, while Zack went quiet and turned his sleepy-looking gaze on the newcomer.

"It occurred to me to wonder what two young men like yourself might be doing out here on such a cold day. It would be awfully strange if you didn't have anything better to do than hang around talking to a little girl."

His face was pleasant, with a smile on his lips, but his tone carried a real threat. Averil took a startled closer look at the guy. Slender, black hair, nothing to write home about. But something about the way he held that shovel, some sharpness in his eyes, communicated that he was capable of serious harm. It suddenly came to Averil what the guy was implying, and he jumped to his feet in fury.

"That is not— I can't believe you'd— What do I look like, some kind of creep?" he sputtered. "We were walking by here, and I saw her sitting here by herself, and I stopped to make sure she was okay."

"Karen, honey, you're okay, aren't you?"

Karen turned her soft, sad eyes up to her teacher and smiled. "I'm okay now, sir. This is Averil. He has asthma like I do. He was worried about me and said he would sit by me and wait for my mother."

"Hmph," was the man's response. He gave both boys a narrow-eyed look, but he turned to leave them alone.

"Is there a problem?" called another voice. A tall guy, good-looking, with spiky hair and a confident swagger (not to mention a permanent look of bad attitude) was coming toward them, and suddenly all the adults were oriented their way.

"Everything's fine," the man called back. A very warm-looking woman approached him and smiled up at him. "I know, I know," he groused. "I don't get to break people's heads anymore." Despite his tone, he was smiling back.

"Of course there's no problem!" said a short girl with a kerchief tied around her head. She planted her hands on her hips and gave the whole lot of them an indignant look. "You all know Zack Williams! He and his grandfather live right across the street. How are you, Zack?" she called out cheerfully, waving at him as she got closer.

Zack almost smiled. His lips actually moved a little. "Fine, thanks, ma'am. You?"

"I'm wonderful!" she declared, which caused the long-haired guy behind her to roll her eyes. "You must be a friend of Zack's, huh?" she addressed Averil enthusiastically.

"No," he said automatically. "I'm just sort of staying with them for a while," he mumbled, looking down at his feet, but the short woman was snatching up his hand and shaking it happily.

"I'm Dovie, it's nice to meet you."

"Uh, yeah, you too," he replied, still mumbling.

"Down, girl," said the man with the ponytail, tucking the woman's hand into the crook of his elbow. "Bet your friend didn't warn you about the nuthouse across the street, thinly disguised as a kindergarten."

An eardrum-splitting shriek rang out, and every single one of the adults turned around simultaneously to shout, "Thomas!"

Averil smiled down at Karen, who was still sitting quietly on the wall, her eyes on the street corner. "I can see why you'd want to wait out here," he said. He noticed she'd put her hands into her pockets. "Don't you have any gloves, Karen?" She shrugged. "I lost them. I didn't tell my mother because I didn't want her to get mad."

"You should tell her. She might scold you, but you ought to have a pair in weather like this."

She shook her head rapidly, causing her long tresses to flop around her shoulders. "No. I don't mind having cold hands."

Averil and Zack looked at one another and frowned. That didn't sound quite right. Karen suddenly jumped to her feet and scrambled to the edge of the sidewalk as a car rounded the corner and approached the school. The silver sedan was not flashy, but it made anyone driving it look sophisticated. The window rolled down to reveal a woman with a severe face and bobbed hair the same colour as Karen's.

"Get in," she said. "You need to practice for your recital."

"Yes, Mother," Karen said tonelessly, but she turned her head and gave Averil a very small smile as she reached out for the door handle.

"Who is that?" the woman asked sharply. Her eyes raked over Averil. "Who are you?"

"Nobody," he sighed.

"They live over there," Karen said, pointing rather vaguely through the car to the far side of the street.

"Great," the woman said insincerely. "How about you two leave my daughter alone? Thanks. Well, get _in_."

Karen got in with more poise than they were used to seeing from a little girl. The window rolled up, and the car drove off. Averil scowled after it.

"That lady . . ."

"Mmm," Zack added thoughtfully.

Averil turned around and looked at the woman who'd introduced herself as Dovie. She, too, was looking after the car with an unhappy expression. She saw Averil and nodded at him, as if in confirmation.

"She thinks so, too," Averil said, making sure Zack saw the gesture. "Anyway, let's go back to your house, I'm freezing my butt off."

"I left the groceries out," Zack said. Like that was a rational response or something.

* * *

"This qualifies as cruel and unusual punishment," Harold groaned, pushing himself away from the table.

Averil was clearing the table and looked at Harold in confusion.

"All this food," he elaborated. "Every bit of it is delicious, but I can only eat so much. It's torment."

Averil rolled his eyes and collected the empty plates.

"No, no," Harold chided him, brushing his hand away. "You did all the cooking, I can take care of this stuff." He pressed his hands over his stomach and groaned again, very theatrically. "In a minute."

Averil hovered uncertainly over the partially-cleared table.

"Sit down, boy," Harold said gently. "It can wait a minute. Digest in comfort, all right?"

Averil never argued with Harold. He sat.

"Maybe it's time we had ourselves a talk," Harold said, sounding very casual.

Zack was still in his seat, and his expression became a lot less lazy-looking at that. It wasn't anywhere near excited, but it was probably interested. Averil immediately felt embarrassed. It _was_ time for them to talk, but he didn't know what he was going to say.

"You've been with us for two weeks. We've been glad to have you, especially when you lay out a spread this good. You've been the most polite guest I've ever had, to be honest, and your dedication to keeping my kitchen clean is noteworthy."

"But," Averil said softly.

"Can't escape the 'buts' in this world, can you?" Harold said, keeping his tone light. "Look, Averil, your memories aren't coming back on their own. You need to take a look in that bag of yours. I'm not going to tell you what to do about what you find in there, but I am going to tell you that you should look. The thing is, I'm not so sure you're an adult. Seems like you're used to taking care of yourself, but that doesn't mean you're of age. It's possible you've got a legal guardian that supposed to be making decisions for you, who might be looking for you. None of us want the trouble we might be in, if we don't start thinking about where you belong."

Those words made Averil leap up and stalk out of the room. Where he belonged? Nowhere, so far as he could tell. The past two and a half weeks had been great. He couldn't have picked a better house to get into a car accident in front of. But that didn't answer any questions about who he was, where he came from . . . where he was going. He had to start making some plans. He couldn't just stay here forever, blissfully ignorant of himself. Harold wasn't going to let him.

He went into the living room, to the corner where he'd shoved the bag and refused to think about it. He heard dishes clanking and knew he wasn't going to be bothered, but he still hunched himself protectively over the bag and took a deep breath. His heart was beginning to pound, much too fast. Panic attack. He was going to have a panic attack. He'd almost had one, his first day here, but Zack had stopped it. His body seemed to remember how it worked. His breath was too sharp, his pulse was in his ears. He was afraid, and he didn't know why.

Zack ambled into the room, walked up to him, and smacked him on the back of the head. "Hey. Stop that," he said.

"Like it's that easy?" Averil snapped, clutching his bag even closer against himself. But Zack just watched him, and it occurred to Averil that the other guy might be a little nervous about it. He didn't know how to help if Averil did go into an all-out attack, but Averil had no doubt that he'd try. He'd at least stay here until it was over. That was . . . oddly comforting. Much as Zack annoyed him, much as it should be absurd to trust someone he'd only known for two weeks, Averil had no doubt that the guy would be good in a crisis. That calmed him somewhat.

His heart was still going a mile a minute, but that was probably due to the bag in his lap. It wasn't getting worse. So he cautiously slid a hand under the canvas flap and extracted the notebook that Zack had mentioned before. Averil Reed. It stated his homeroom, so the notebook could be returned if he lost it. There was writing in it, class notes for some kind of math. He set it aside and reached into the bag again. His fingers closed on a wooden frame, and he drew a deep breath.

Zack was looking at him closely, making sure the breath was nothing serious. Averil felt a spike of irritation, because, really, when did he _ask_ Zack to care? But still . . . oddly comforting. He pulled out the frame and found a photograph. He picked himself out quickly, and felt confused by the rest. It seemed to be at least a couple of years old, since Averil looked younger. There were four people, including him, posed like a family. There was another boy his age who looked like an exact replica of the older man, and seemed to have the same expression on his face as that of the woman. Averil stuck out like a sore thumb.

He let Zack see it.

"Your family?"

"I don't know," Averil said quietly, tightly. Trying to think about how he knew them made his body tense up to prepare for an impact. Those were the bad memories that hurt him to try to remember. "I don't look a thing like them."

"Maybe you were adopted."

Averil withdrew a manila folder from the bag, and flipped it open. He sucked in a breath. "I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"If I was adopted, then why do I have this?"

There was a handwritten summary of the contents of the stack of documents, which seemed to be in Averil's own handwriting. Clearly, he had once thought it was a good idea to put all the pertinent information in one place. So he could easily communicate it to others, maybe? Zack perused the contents of the folder only cursorily, then passed it back over to him so he could read it in more detail.

"Guess we don't have to worry about your legal guardian."

"I _am_ my legal guardian," Averil frowned. "Except . . . Damn. I have to be registered in school and have a permanent address, or they can take it back, until I'm eighteen."

They were both silent for a minute, listening to the water running in the sink and Harold humming as the dishes clattered their way into the dishwasher.

"So," Zack said.

Averil grimaced at him.

"You know what that means."

"Enlighten me, oh wise one," he snapped.

"You _are_ in school somewhere, and you _do_ have an address. Probably theirs," he said, nodding at the photograph.

Averil scowled down at it, blinking rapidly as he felt hot tears burn in his eyes. "So what?"

Zack just looked at him questioningly.

"So what if I do? I wasn't happy there, I couldn't have been. _Look_ at this stuff. I took all these papers with me, and look at this." He shoved the open bag at Zack's face to reveal the small pile of clothes left in it. A toothbrush lay neglected on top of them. "I was leaving. I packed a bag. I was running away or something. And then I apparently decided to kill myself, so—"

He was choking, and he wiped the back of his hand over his eyes. He was mortified. He couldn't believe he was crying in front of Zack, like some little girl. Oh, wait, he'd met a little girl today who was too dignified to cry in front of strangers. He was so pathetic.

"So what's the point?" he coughed, pushing through the lump in his throat. "Why would I try to figure out where I lived and everything, when I was leaving?" "If that's the way you want to look at it," Harold said cautiously, revealing himself to be standing in the doorway. Averil wiped his hand across his eyes again and tried to sit up straight and have some freaking dignity. "If you're _sure_ that's the way you want to look at it."

"What other way is there?"

"You could say, since you regret the decision you made about stepping into the street like that, that you might also regret the decision to leave. Maybe your memories aren't coming to you because you were in the wrong when you left and you don't want to remember that you hurt someone else."

Averil shuddered. "Maybe. Don't you get it? That's why I don't want to remember. So I never find out if I did something awful, or if something awful happened to me. I'd rather not know. I'd rather just see the world as it presents itself _now_. Having you guys take me in . . . I feel like I'm off to a good start. I feel like there's hope for me. And I obviously didn't feel like that, before. So I want to keep what I have now. Do you see?"

"Yeah, I see," Harold said gruffly, clearing his throat, but he was smiling. "What are you going to do about it, then?"

"I don't—"

"He's going to stay here," Zack said. Both Averil and Harold gave him startled looks. "For now," he added, his voice firm. "Come to school with me tomorrow so you can get registered. I don't think you've graduated yet, or you wouldn't have this." He tapped the notebook.

"I don't want to be some kind of charity case—"

"Averil. Could you help me out in the kitchen for a minute while Zack gets started on his homework? Thanks." Curious at being cut off, Averil followed Harold into the kitchen, while Zack wordlessly got up and went to his room. Harold walked all the way to the door, and grabbed his coat off the peg and put it on. He pulled a carton of cigarettes out of the pocket and stepped outside, leaving Averil to follow him again. Averil stayed silent while Harold lit up.

"Ah," he sighed, blowing out a cloud of smoke and steaming breath.

"Sir?"

"Listen, boy. You're not a charity case, all right? Not to Zack. He wants you here, for some reason that probably only makes sense to him. It's not his way to explain himself, you've seen that. But he likes you, that's clear. And he wants you around."

"And you, sir?"

"I certainly won't argue about having such a good cook around," Harold grinned, blowing out another cloud. "I like you, boy, I really do. You've got a good heart, and it was a really nice thing to hear you say that staying here makes you feel hopeful. But I don't care too much about myself, anymore. I'm retired, I'm widowed, I'm old. What I care about it my grandson discovering who he is."

"Sir?"

"Do you know what the name William means—our last name?"

"No."

"It means, 'resolute guardian.' Now, don't take this the wrong way, and don't get proud and embarrassed. I'm just giving it to you straight, Averil. Zack was made to protect something. It's just who he is. I'm not sure he always understood it, but he was meant to be a protector of _something_. The last few years, he's just been drifting along without taking interest in anything. Now he's found something to protect. It's you, boy."

Averil was so embarrassed that he couldn't even argue.

"If you go, I think Zack is going to be pretty lost. So will you. You two are good for each other, whether you like it or not. In short, stay. This house is your home, now, if you want it to be."

"So Zack says I should stay, and just like that, you're convinced it's the best thing? You don't even need to think about it?"

Averil suddenly found himself pulled forward and crushed in a pair of arms that were stronger than he'd expected.

"No need to think," Harold said. "I'm convinced."

Averil clenched his hands into fists and tried desperately not to break down entirely.

"So long as you promise to keep cooking dinner, of course."

He nodded frantically, and Harold gave him a thump on the back.

"Good. That's settled, then. Better go shopping tomorrow, look for another bed. You're both too tall to sleep on the couch forever."

* * *

_**A/N:** Now, then. I feel I must qualify something here. I have known two people during my life who received emancipation from their parents, both of them at sixteen. Unfortunately, I am no longer in contact with either of them, and was unable to ask them any questions about how it worked for them. I do not know the laws in California regarding emancipation. Therefore, I made up the rules for it. I apologize for any inaccuracies in my portrayal, and I especially apologize if someone was offended by said inaccuracies. It was not my intention. I have enormous respect for anyone who is able to face such a situation at such a young age._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

_February 2nd_

"Calling Lee Reed to the principal's office. Lee Reed to the principal's office, please."

Lee jerked in startlement, then turned to his history teacher with his eyebrows raised. The teacher waved his hand dismissively without even turning away from the map he was using to demonstrate his lecture. The little red dot of his laser pointer circled most of Eastern Europe, but Lee had tuned the lecture out as he slipped out of the room.

Why? He'd kept his nose clean ever since he'd gotten back into school . . . well, more or less. There _had_ been a couple of people who thought the short kid who had a nerd-level interest in history and archaeology should be beaten up. They didn't know he'd been given a few pointers in fighting, and he'd put a stop to the bullies by the simple expedient of kicking their legs out from under them and walking away. A handful of detentions, but nothing serious.

So why was he being called to the principal's office _now_?

Then he remembered.

They'd had a conversation.

Just weeks ago, when Ril had left his note and disappeared. Lee had gone to the principal and begged to be told if Ril came to the office, called the office, or anything of the sort. Principal Durham hadn't been able to promise anything.

"_It's confidential information. The only person I would be able to discuss it with would be his legal guardian, and since he doesn't have one of those . . ."_

"_But sir," Lee had protested, blinking back his tears. "Please."_

"_Listen, Mr. Reed. I like you and your brother, and I've been pretty impressed by the way you've shown me that you can handle the responsibility you were given. I want to be able to help you. Unfortunately, I can't. Officially, I can't do that."_

"_I understand, sir," Lee whispered, and turned to go._

"_Do you?" Durham asked, and tiny smile quirking the corners of his mouth._

"_Sir?"_

"_Officially, I can't discuss a student's records with another student. But if some student were to accidentally overhear something . . . Well, there wouldn't be anything I could do about that."_

Lee started flat-out running. A teacher in the hall started hollering at him, but he didn't even call back an apology. He skidded into the office and stopped at the receptionist's desk, panting for breath.

She peered at him over the rims of her bifocals, her double chin receding into her neck to marK her disapproval. "Young man," she said soberly, and nothing else.

"Lee Reed," he managed. "You just called me."

"Ah. Yes. Mr. Durham would like to see you."

Lee waited for her to walk to the door that separated the office from the waiting area, so she could unlock it. He fidgeted impatiently. Just as she fit the key into the lock, a door was flung open and footsteps sounded. Lee couldn't see what was happening on the other side of the door, but he perked up.

"Mrs. Kinsey!" a voice bellowed out.

"Yes, sir?"

"Where's the paperwork for that transfer request, the one for that Reed kid?"

"It's right in the middle of your desk, Mr. Durham. I placed it there myself."

"Ha! And you expected me to find it in that clutter? Where is he transferring to, Mrs. Kinsey? Remind me."

"Sir," she said in a flat tone, no doubt indicating that she was at the door for a reason.

"Well, the school, woman, what school is he entering?"

"I believe Balboa," she said at last.

"Well, that's nice," Principal Durham said sweetly. "He's got remarkably good grades, for his situation, glad he got into a prep school like that. Still, what's wrong with _our_ school?"

"I don't know, sir," Mrs. Kinsey answered, her voice still flat and unyielding. She was playing his game, but not willingly.

"Well, where's the other Reed boy, then? I sent for him ages ago!"

"On the other side of the door, sir," Mrs. Kinsey sighed, and then the lock turned and she pulled it open. She regarded him with a pinched expression, then plodded back to her desk. Principal Durham was there, winking at him.

"Come in, already. Be a good lad and pretend you didn't hear any of that, okay?"

"Oh, yes, sir," Lee said, unable to help a slightly giddy chuckle. Balboa. On the other side of town. Ril was there now**, **perhaps following that plan he'd said he had—he was real and tangible, he was _alive._ That unexpected thought made Lee choke and stop where he was, fighting back a sob of relief. Ril was okay. He was transferring schools, but he was still in town.

Something was still obviously wrong. Ril didn't want to be near him, didn't want to talk to him, didn't even want him to know where he was. So that had to be resolved. But Ril was alive, and he was okay. That made all the difference.

"Have a seat in my office, Mr. Reed. I have something to discuss with Mrs. Kinsey, and I'll be just a minute."

Lee gratefully sank down in a chair and took the moment of privacy the principal had gifted him with. He buried his face in his hands and released that happy little sob. Then he scrubbed his eyes with his knuckles and tried to look less like an overemotional kid and more like the composed adult he was supposed to be. Mr. Durham came in and went through the motions of pretending that he'd called Lee for a meeting to make sure he was doing well in his classes and not experiencing any problems—preventative maintenance, he called it. But it lasted all of five minutes, and Lee was dismissed in time to catch the tail end of the lecture in history.

Mr. Killian gave him extra credit for giving his opinion, simply because he'd never seen anyone get so enthusiastic about the Holy Roman Empire.

* * *

They sort of fell through the door, laughing.

"But don't schools, like, report people for missing class?" Lee said, his high-pitched voice obviously an imitation of someone else. He was choking out his words past his laughter, and Sara was giggling uncontrollably. "They won't, like, handcuff you to make sure you, like, stay there?"

"Oh," Sara took up the imitation, smothering her laughter in Lee's shoulder. "Well, I hope you're okay. You know. Later. After you do that thing. That chemo-thing."

Still laughing, Lee turned his back to the sofa and dumped Sara off. She let go and fell onto the cushions willingly.

"Thanks for the piggyback ride," she grinned.

"I can't believe you're friends with that girl. She's so _dumb_."

"We're not _friends_," Sara stressed. "She's just on the dance team with me."

Lee flopped down beside her, opening his mouth to answer, but another voice cut through his.

"You two must have had a good day."

They both spun around to see Finn smiling at them over the open refrigerator door.

"Oh!" Sara gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. "You scared me!"

"Hey," Lee greeted, less concerned. "I thought you were teaching a class today? Isn't your professor out of town?"

"No, he's back," Finn said, his head disappearing behind the door of the refrigerator again. "I kept thinking out loud about what we should have for dinner, so he told me to go home and just cook something so I'd stop making him hungry."

Lee was still laughing about Sara's dance team member, so it was no trouble to laugh some more. "Well? What _are_ you having for dinner?"

"I have no idea," Finn said in an aggrieved voice. "Which is sad, because I was hoping to have something ready before you went to work."

"Oh. Well, I actually have to go in early, anyway. I just wanted to walk Sara home and change clothes. I'm leaving in just a minute."

"I'll save you some!" Finn said cheerfully, head popping up again.

Lee nodded his thanks, then turned and bowed to Sara and made her giggle, before heading for his room to change into work clothes.

"Why are you in such a good mood, Lee?" Finn called through the door.

"Balboa High School," Lee called back.

Finn turned quizzical eyes to Sara, who pantomimed zipping her lips and gave him an angelic smile. He shrugged and started pulling things out of the fridge. Lee almost crashed his way through the door just a few seconds later, now wearing black pants and a vest over the button-down shirt he'd worn to school.

"Have I thanked you lately for my job?" Lee grinned. Finn had not only found the job but had provided Lee's sole reference when Lee applied for it. Desk clerk at a hotel was not glamorous, but he did get to work on his homework when it wasn't busy.

"Yes, would you stop?" Finn said, sounding both proud and exasperated.

"Balboa," Lee said suddenly, "is where Ril just transferred to. Principal Durham made sure I overheard him talking about it today."

"Ril?" Finn repeated, eyes wide.

"We found him," Lee grinned.

Finn whooped in glee. "That's wonderful!"

Lee nodded in agreement, but then he sniffled and bent down to re-tie the lace on his shoe and clear his throat very suspiciously.

"You're going to leave him alone, huh?"

Lee straightened up, nodding again. "I decided. Till the end of the school year. If he doesn't call by summer, I'll go over there and find him."

Finn's smile was tinged with sadness, but he just ruffled Lee's hair and shoved a sandwich into his hands. "Here, take this and get going or you'll be late."

"Oh, wow, thanks Finn."

"What are mommies for?" he replied with a wink.

"Laugh it up, Finn, but if you ever start trying to kiss my owies, I'll start trying to kill you," Lee said, shoving half the sandwich into his mouth and running for the door. He parted with a brilliant smile in Sara's direction, but he was chewing and couldn't say anything.

"Bye, Lee! Be safe!" she called, smiling back.

Once the door was shut, she sighed deeply and leaned back against the cushions, the smile slipping from her face. Her treatment started tomorrow. She'd been trying so hard not to think of it, for Lee's sake, but as soon as he had gone, she felt it. It was as though when Lee was with her, he bore everything on his shoulders and she could be free. When they were apart, the weight fell on her again.

Then she realized she was still on his couch, in his apartment, with his roommate standing in the kitchen looking at her.

"You know why else he's happy?" she said, forcing another smile for Finn's benefit. "He got an A on his English essay."

Finn looked surprised. "I thought he was about to fail English."

"I think it might be that he didn't _think_ he could get a good grade in that class," she said. "And the normal teacher doesn't work with him at all, even though she knows he was out of school for a while. She thinks he doesn't try or something. She thinks he's trouble, just because of his circumstances. But the substitute is kind to everyone. I really like her."

"What was Lee's essay about?"

Sara's eyes flicked to the side as she tried to come up with a good excuse not to tell him. Finn was a little too smart for that.

"Did he bring it home?"

Sara jumped to her feet to protect Lee's backpack. "Yes, but, I don't know, I don't think he'd want you to read it!"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him, right?" Finn said cheerfully.

Sara caved, and pulled the essay from the front pocket of Lee's backpack, where he'd shoved it after he'd shown her his triumph. She was too proud of him to allow him to keep it a secret. "See, she put the note on top telling him he's a gifted writer! Isn't that great?"

"It is," Finn assured her, his eyes flickering over the smudged and slightly crumpled page. His face paled suddenly. "His substitute teacher for English . . . That's Miss Elda, right?"

"Yes. She's really wonderful."

The look on Finn's face told Sara that he'd be cursing violently if she wasn't standing there.

"Is something wrong? You don't like what he wrote about you, do you? He was just being silly, you know, he really does like you . . ."

"I know," he said, giving her a brilliant smile of reassurance and reading on down the page. "She's right, he _is_ pretty good. Oooo," he said suddenly, his eyes lighting up and looking at her. "He _hopes_ you're his home—"

"Don't," she said desperately, covering her blushing cheeks with her hands. "He said— he just said that— we're close, that's all."

"Oh, I see," he said, but he was reading again. His teasing attitude dropped, and he sighed. "He misses Averil so much. I know how stressed out he's been, even if he does try to hide it. Poor kid."

Sara nodded soberly.

"He's worried about you, too," Finn said softly, putting his hand on her shoulder. "He would never tell you, but I have to force him to go to bed, lately. He stays up all night trying to research leukemia so he can help you."

Sara felt her breath getting tight in her chest, and she quickly dropped back onto the couch, worried that her legs weren't going to hold her. Lee . . .

"Hey, Finn," she whispered. "Lee says you've been so nice to him the last few weeks. He doesn't know what to think about you calling yourself 'mommy,' but . . . He said you'd make a pretty good one, if you were a girl."

Finn was very cautiously sitting down next to her. "Oh? That's sweet of him."

"Lee is wonderful, and Tom and Yuri are trying so hard, but none of them are . . ."

"Oh," Finn said quietly. "I see."

"You do?"

"Yeah. Now come here, princess."

Sara could barely see because her eyes were so full of tears that she was trying to keep from falling. But she felt Finn's hand on her back, pulling her toward him. When she felt the fabric of his shirt against her cheek, she let go of everything. Burying her face against his chest and losing her careful control within the circle of his arms, she wept. She was afraid, and she'd been keeping it in too long. Sometimes a girl just needed a mom, in whatever form they appeared.

* * *

_February 4__th_

Lee did a lot of pacing for the next few days. Sara was going to be at the hospital for three days to receive her first round of chemotherapy, just because it was going to be so intense, and she'd begged Lee not to go there. She didn't want him to see her that way. Tom would be with her the whole time, and he'd been pretty stern about Lee obeying Sara's wishes. He did let down his guard, somewhat, to say that he'd tell Lee the minute he brought Sara home.

Lee considered not going to school, since he couldn't concentrate anyway. Finn and Caleb wouldn't try to make him, he knew that. They had never pretended to be his parents, much as Finn might joke about it, and they never told him what he should be doing. They trusted him to figure it out on his own.

Maybe that was why he went to school. To prove that he could be trusted. To prove he was mature about making decisions. He wanted to be successful, he wanted to get into college. After the bad beginning, he would have to work really hard for the rest of high school to come out ahead. He couldn't really afford to skip. Even if he did spend the entire time distracted, restlessly tapping a pencil or staring out a window or poking morosely at his lunch.

His friends noticed. Rob tried to goad him into a fight, just to make him feel better, but he didn't take him up on it. Rob liked to fight a lot more than he did, probably because Rob had never _had_ to do it. He mostly ignored them. With neither Sara nor Ril at school, it was a lonely place for him and made him realize that all the people he really cared about lived right beside him.

He thought Yuri must be feeling pretty lonely, too. They probably would have let him stay at the hospital with Tom and Sara, if he'd insisted on it. And to be fair, he was at the hospital a lot. But Tom wouldn't let him spend all his time there, insisting that Yuri was at a critical point in his studies and needed to stay focused and needed to be well-rested. Tom seemed almost as worried about Yuri as he was about Sara, in fact.

After school on the second day, Lee decided to make a brief visit to his neighbour and see if Yuri was okay. He knocked and thought he heard Yuri say to come in, albeit very quietly. He must be calling out from the bedroom, Lee thought, but when he opened the door he found Yuri sitting on the sofa. Strange.

Even stranger was the way Yuri was just sitting there. He wasn't really moving. He was just looking at Lee like he'd never seen him before. Except that he then said, "Hello, Lee." He sounded really tired. Lee felt a stab of pity. He'd been running back and forth between here, the university, and the hospital. Doing homework, bringing Tom a change of clothes or a textbook, all kinds of things.

"Hey, um, are you okay?" Lee frowned. He didn't like the way Yuri looked. He was really pale and he was still just sitting there.

"I think sho," Yuri slurred.

"Oh. Um. Yuri? Are you— have you been drinking?"

"Not that I remember," he said, suddenly sounding more coherent. "I'm just a little tired, I think. What brings you here, Lee?"

"Actually, I was going to see if you needed anything."

"And if I have news about Sara?" Yuri added, smiling sadly. "Nothing yet."

He suddenly slumped forward, and he would have hit the ground if Lee hadn't jumped to catch him. He pushed him back, made him lean on the armrest of the sofa.

"So dizzy," Yuri groaned.

"Yuri, what's going on? What's wrong?"

"Oh, I know," Yuri said, sounding like he'd just discovered something but simultaneously like he was about to die of exhaustion. A little fizzle of triumph in the midst of failure. "I forgot to eat."

"Since when?"

"Oh . . . Maybe yesh—yeshterday. Been so bizzzzy."

"Uh, Yuri, what should I do? You look really bad."

"You have any candy?" he asked dreamily. He was turning gray, and Lee was beginning to panic. Candy? How in hell would candy help?

Lee got out his phone and called Sara's room at the hospital, praying that someone would be available to answer.

"Hello?" growled out a scratchy, tired voice.

"Tom?" Lee almost sobbed.

"God, kid, if this is you—"

"Tom, something's wrong with Yuri."

"What? What is it?"

"I don't know. I came over to see if he was okay, and he's not. He's turning a weird colour and he sounds like he's been drinking and I don't know what's wrong. He asked me if I have any candy."

"Do you know when he last ate?"

"I think he said yesterday. Tom, what do I do?"

"Shit, shit, shit," Tom snapped. Lee assumed that was not an answer to the question, merely an interjection. "We ran out of soda. You guys have some at your place?"

"Yes."

"Get him a soda _now_. Make him drink the whole thing. And if you have anything else with a lot of sugar, make him eat it. Do it! Then call me back."

"Tom, what's—"

"He's fucking hypoglycemic and he's crashing. If you don't hurry up he's going to have to go to the hospital. Move it!"

Tom hung up on him. Lee dashed into his own apartment and grabbed a can of Mountain Dew with one hand and a cupcake Finn had just made with the other. He ran back to Yuri and tried to shove the items into his hands, but Yuri wasn't able to take them because his hands were shaking and he couldn't seem to lift his arms. Lee held the soda while Yuri drank it. Yuri moaned about being nauseated, but Lee coaxed him through the whole can, interspersed with bites of the cupcake. Yuri obediently swallowed when Lee gave him something, but he seemed too weak to take it into his own hands.

Once the sugary stuff was consumed, Lee called Tom again.

"It's about time," Tom snapped. "What did you give him?"

"A can of Mountain Dew and a cupcake," Lee said promptly. "Finn made it. It had sprinkles."

"Who cares about sprinkles? You're such a stupid brat," Tom said with passion. "Does he look any better?"

Yuri did, in fact, already look a little better. He wasn't that funny gray colour anymore, and he was breathing more normally. His eyes were closed, though, and he was hanging awkwardly over the arm of the sofa.

"A little," Lee said, trying not to make it a squeak. Tom sounded really, really upset.

"Good. Now listen. Do you need a pen to write this down?"

"Just tell me, Tom," Lee sighed. Even now, he had to insult him?

"Yuri needs to lay there for a little while and rest. Give him a glass of water, let him metabolize the sugar. Then he needs to eat a full meal, something pretty well balanced. I want him to stay with you guys tonight so you can keep an eye on him. Make him have something else with sugar before he goes to sleep. Don't let him go to his first class tomorrow, don't let him set an alarm clock. He needs to sleep as long as his body wants to sleep. When he does get up, he needs another good meal. You got all that?"

"Meal now, sugar before bed, sleep, then breakfast."

"Good. Okay. Aw, hell. I wish I was there, but I can't leave Sara right now . . ."

"Yuri will understand," Lee assured him. "I'll make sure of everything, Tom, I promise."

"I gotta say, I'm glad it happened there, with you. Not at school or something. He lost his medical ID tags almost two weeks ago. If he'd done this there, no one would know what was wrong. At least you knew to call me."

Lee used his shoulder to hold the phone against his ear, so he could bend down and grab Yuri's legs and lift them onto the sofa. When he was grasping Yuri's ankles, a flash of light caught his eye. He fumbled under the sofa and came up with something that looked like a dog tag, a flat bit of metal on a chain.

"Oh. Uh, Tom, I think I just found his ID. It was under your sofa."

Tom's only response was more swearing.

"I'm going now," Lee said. "I'm going to get him that water. Don't worry, okay? I'll stay with him and I'll bring him over to my place as soon as he can get up without passing out."

"Put him on the phone," Tom demanded.

Lee shrugged, and held his phone out. "Yuri? Tom wants to talk to you."

"Mmm. Okay," Yuri muttered, not opening his eyes as he held out one hand. Lee dropped the cell into it, and Yuri managed to get it to his ear. "Tom? I know I'm an idiot, you don't have to tell me."

Lee couldn't help chuckling as he went to the kitchen and looked for a cup.

"No, it's okay. No. You need to be there. Stay with her. I'll be fine. I _know_, Tom, but don't worry. Lee is doing a good job."

Lee looked over at the sound of his name and returned the smile Yuri was giving him.

"Yes. I will. Not a problem, Finn makes delicious cupcakes."

Now Lee laughed, handing the water to Yuri, who sipped at it while he talked. His hand was still shaky, so Lee kept a close eye on him in case it looked like he was going to drop the cup. He sat down on the floor beside his neighbour. He looked at the tag he'd found under the sofa, which had Yuri's name, stated his medical condition, and also had Tom's name and phone number on it. He thought about getting one for Ril. Then he remembered that Ril was gone because he didn't want to be Lee's responsibility anymore, and he ducked his head down and fought tears.

He looked up when Yuri put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, okay?" Yuri said, handing him his phone back. "This isn't the first time I've been through this. You did great."

Lee kept his thoughts about his brother to himself. "Uh, thanks. How do you feel?"

"Like I've just run a marathon," Yuri answered ruefully. "But better than I did. Don't worry about what Tom says, you don't have to babysit me all night. I'll be fine here."

Lee stood up. "Ha. I don't think so. Can you get up?"

"Only if the building is on fire," Yuri sighed. "I'm just going to lay here for a while, then I'll get up and have something to eat. I promise."

"Nope. Tom would kill me. Come on." Lee bent down and put his arm around Yuri. "Put your arm over my shoulders, I'm going to help you up." He thought that would make it pretty clear that there was no point to Yuri arguing with him. It seemed to work, because Yuri accepted his help in standing, then he managed to walk next door on his own. He collapsed onto their sofa as soon as he could, though.

"Wow," he moaned, putting his arm over his eyes. "I haven't crashed this bad since high school. I'm so embarrassed."

"You sure you're okay? Do you want another soda or something?"

"Do you have some kind of juice? We do, if you don't."

"We have orange juice," Lee said, and quickly fetched it. He was very eager to do whatever it took. He just didn't want to see Yuri's skin get clammy and have him go that deeply frightening gray colour again. "I don't think we have any real food, though. We always get groceries on the weekend. I'll call Caleb and tell him to go to the store."

"No, don't do that," Yuri protested. "You can take anything you want out of our kitchen."

Lee didn't even want to leave him alone long enough to take a look. And he wasn't about to call Finn, since he was a little apprehensive about Finn's idea of a healthy meal. So he called Caleb and explained the situation. As he expected, Caleb blustered about it for a minute but was already pulling into the parking lot of a grocery store by the time Lee finished explaining. Lee felt privileged, as he always did, that he was part of the inner circle: he got to see past Caleb's gruff and short-tempered outer shell, ignore his intimidating size and strength, and see what Caleb was really like. Much as Caleb would like to believe the outer shell was all there was to him, Lee was beginning to see what a deeply caring and intuitive person he was.

He proved it later that night, after Finn had come home from work and they all headed for bed, and Yuri tried to go home. Caleb just shoved him back down onto the sofa and threw a blanket over his head and told him not to be an idiot, which somehow convinced Yuri to stay and be looked after. And Lee saw Caleb leave his bedroom door open a crack, just in case.

* * *

_February 5__th_

Since Yuri was able to rest so well at their place, he ended up waking up naturally and still being in time to go to class. Finn made him eat a huge pile of toast and eggs and about three glasses of orange juice before he'd let him go back to his own apartment to change clothes, though, and then Finn gave him a ride to school, since Tom had the car at the hospital. Some guys (that is, Caleb) might consider getting a ride in a blue VW Beetle a threat to their masculinity, but it didn't seem to bother Yuri.

Lee left only five minutes after they did, leaving Caleb alone for an hour before his first class. But he was barely off apartment property before Caleb pulled his bike up to the curb and tossed him the extra helmet.

"Here. I'm giving you a ride."

"Why are you leaving so early?" Lee asked as he pulled the helmet on.

"Need to put some air in my tires before class. Hop on. And hold on, there's not much room back there."

"Just don't kill me, okay?" Lee said nervously, climbing on to the very tiny bit of leather behind Caleb and hoping Caleb didn't gun it and send him somersaulting off the back. This thing was not really meant for passengers.

He needn't have worried, considering that Caleb drove just as well as he did everything else—everything but emote, anyway. And his cool factor went up by about a billion points when his classmates saw him slide off the gorgeous red-and-black sport bike and remove the helmet.

"Hang on to that, I'll pick you up after school."

Lee frowned at him. "Why? I walk every day."

Caleb shrugged uncomfortably and gazed off down the street. "Just thought you'd want to be home early. Cause you don't know what time Sara's getting back."

Lee realized suddenly that this was Caleb's way of being supportive, and decided he'd better not mention the ride to Finn, because Finn would never let Caleb live it down.

"Oh, thanks," he said breezily, trying not to embarrass Caleb. "See you around four, then."

Caleb gunned it in his hurry to escape the moment, and roared off so quickly that if anyone else had been driving, Lee would have been worried about an accident. He tucked the helmet under his arm, wondering if it would fit into his locker, and strolled into school smirking at the looks he was getting. Rob was really the only person here that knew anything about Lee, the rest of them found him something of a mystery. They knew he was some kind of delinquent who had briefly dropped out, but that was it.

A couple of people pounced on him as he was walking.

"Who was _that_?"

"My roommate."

"You have a roommate? Wait, aren't you, like, sixteen?"

"Yeah."

"You don't live with your parents or anything?"

"My parents are dead. I live with that guy and one other roommmate. They're both in college."

"But, well, how do you . . .?"

"I have a job."

"Yeah, but . . ."

"What?"

"Aren't you supposed to go to a home or something if your parents die? How did you wind up with roommmates?"

Lee rolled his eyes and tossed the helmet into his locker. "Would you rather go into foster care and have to make nice with fake parents, or get a job and a couple of roommates?"

"Oh. Good point."

Rob came up to him and tried to punch him, but Lee blocked it deftly. "What's up, Rob?"

"I _saw_ it," he said, eyes wide, almost salivating. "Caleb's bike."

"Yeah?"

"Lee. It's a top-of-the-line Suzuki GSXR—hey, how many CC's does he have?"

"I don't know, Rob," Lee sighed, sidestepping a kick designed to make him fall over.

"But—don't you _care_?"

"Not especially."

"Oh. Sorry, man. I forgot."

"Forgot what?"

"That your girl is coming home today. You're probably a little distracted, huh?"

Lee had nothing to say that wouldn't come out slightly more angry than he intended. All he said was, "She's not my girl."

"You're just gonna space out all day, huh? Don't worry, I'll try to cover for you in class. Come on, we're late for Geometry."

Lee decided that Rob, as crazy as he was, wasn't so bad as a friend. He'd effectively blocked everyone else's questions as soon as he walked up, and his distracting tendency to try to hurt Lee might actually be good for him today. Still, even with Rob's help, he barely made it through the day. He was too worried about Sara.

He'd been studying what he could, almost obsessively, ever since they'd heard the diagnosis. He'd read every article he could find on the internet about Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia, and about the treatment involved. Lee had known almost before Sara did that she would spend the next month in an aggressive few-days-on, few-days-off cycle of chemotherapy treatments to destroy the leukaemia. Then there would be another four to six months of less aggressive but still intense treatment that would wipe out the remaining traces and put her into remission. Then for the next couple of years, she'd have to go back for regular checkups and treatments to ensure that she stayed that way.

Hopefully.

Unless the first six months didn't go well.

If that didn't work, they'd have to look into even stronger medication, or even bone marrow transfers. It was going to get ugly either way, but Lee didn't want to see it get that ugly. But it didn't matter how sick she got, how long it took, none of it would change that Lee was going to be there for her. For the next few months, he planned to be at her side at every possible moment. And for the next few years, he'd be strong for her while she waited for proof that she was really healed. Together forever wasn't a bad plan, either.

So when Caleb pulled into their apartment complex, Lee barely waited for him to stop the bike before he was jumping off it and running upstairs. He slung his backpack in the vague direction of his own front door and knocked on Sara's. Yuri pulled it open.

"Hi, Lee."

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good," Yuri smiled. "Come in. They're on their way here, they should be arriving any minute."

"Oh. Okay."

Yuri had been busy, it seemed.

"We wanted to be sure she'd be comfortable, if she felt like being out here to watch t.v. or something," Yuri explained. "So I made her a bed on the couch."

Several blankets and pillows were laid out neatly, just waiting for her. The small coffee table held a glass full of crushed ice, a book that Sara had been reading, and an empty mixing bowl. Lee winced when he realized why that was there.

"I don't know how she's feeling right now," Yuri answered Lee's unspoken question. "When I talked to Tom, he just said they were on their way. He sounds really tired. I made some food, just a few light things, but I don't know if she'll be hungry."

"What about you?" Lee asked. "You've eaten, right?"

Yuri blushed a little. "Yeah. Listen, Lee, I'm really sorry about yesterday. I didn't mean to be such a bother, I—"

"It wasn't a bother. I'm just glad you're okay."

"I'm so embarrassed that you saw that."

"Don't be, just promise that you're going to take care of yourself."

The doorknob rattled, and Lee leapt to open it. Yuri was only a step behind him. Tom came in carefully, holding Sara in his arms like a child. She had her face turned toward him, giving them a view of the back of her head. Her hair looked limp and messy. Lee's eyes locked on to her and followed her as Tom set her down on the bed Yuri had made.

Then he spun around and strode to Yuri, bringing his hands up and cupping Yuri's face in them. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Yuri said.

"You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, look at me."

"I wasn't here."

"You can't be everywhere," Yuri said gently, putting his hands on Tom's outstretched arms. "She needed you more than I did. I'm back to normal, I promise."

Tom slid his hands around to the back of Yuri's neck and pulled his head closer, pressing their cheeks together. "Don't scare me like that," he murmured.

Lee crouched down beside Sara. She was awake.

"Hi," she said, trying to smile at him. She looked awful. Her eyes and her skin and the way she smiled all made her look frail and exhausted. Like a sick person. "Oh, Lee, don't look at me," she whispered, covering her face with her hands.

Lee pulled them away, and softened the gesture by kissing her fingers. "Please don't hide."

"I look so ugly."

"You will never look ugly. Never. I'm glad you're home."

"For a few days, anyway."

"Get as much rest as you can, okay? I'll be here with you. If you need anything, just ask me."

"Thank you, Lee," she sighed, and closed her eyes. Lee stayed beside her, her hand still clutched in his while he watched her doze.

Yuri and Tom seemed to be bickering over something. Lee tuned in to see what it was.

"You're exhausted, Tom. I can tell."

"I'm not the one who had a blood sugar crash yesterday."

"No, you're the one who's just spent three days nursing his sister through chemotherapy."

"I'm fine for a while. You need to rest."

"Tom, I can rest just fine while keeping an eye on her. You need to sleep."

"Hey, guys?" Lee said mildly.

"What?"

"You can both go get some rest. I'm going to stay here with her."

Tom scowled at him. "She needs—"

"She needs to rest, she needs any food or water I can get her to take, and she needs quiet. I can handle that for a few hours. Go on, we'll be fine out here."

Tom was still scowling while Yuri shoved him into their bedroom, declaring that they were _both_ going to take a nap if that was what it took to make Tom shut up. They had roused Sara, who blinked in confusion at her hand, intertwined with Lee's.

"That feels nice," she stated simply.

"Sara? Can I get you anything to eat?"

"No," she said, sounding repulsed.

_Patient may experience a loss of appetite . . ._

"Okay. Have a little of this, then." Lee reached for the glass of half-melted ice, and she obediently sipped at it, then grimaced and gave it back to him. "Just rest, okay?"

She closed her eyes again. Lee sat on the floor, holding her hand and watching the television on mute. He stayed that way for close to an hour before she roused again.

"Tom?" she groaned without even opening her eyes.

"It's Lee," he said, squeezing her hand.

"Lee, I . . . I don't feel good, I think I'm going to—"

Lee had already pulled her to her feet and drawn her against his side, and he hurried her down the hall to the bathroom. They'd barely cleared the door before she lost control, but she managed to throw herself onto her knees and just about fall into the toilet before she started puking. Lee tried desperately to keep from getting nauseated himself, looking up at the ceiling and breathing shallowly. He held her hair away from her face, grabbed a washcloth and patted it on her clammy neck and forehead.

"I don't want you to see this," she cried. Then she puked again. She wasn't bringing up much.

"Sara, I'm here to help, no matter what," he said gently, going onto one knee so he could wipe her face with the washcloth. He dabbed the sweat from her temples, then softly wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I don't think you're ugly, Sara. Not even now. I want to stay with you."

She heaved again, even though there was nothing left in her stomach.

_Common side effects include: nausea and vomiting . . ._

Lee helped her get into her own bed in her room, making sure she was well covered by blankets since she'd started shivering. This was going to be a very hard month.

* * *

_This is another note to be sure I am not offending anyone. I know that I am getting into territory that is deeply personal for some people who may be reading this story, and I just want anyone for whom this touches a nerve to know that I respect and appreciate how frightening and difficult it can be to deal with the medical situations I'm writing about._

_I do in fact have a close relative who suffers from hypoglycemia, similar to that of Yuri's character, and I feel that this was an accurate portrayal of a situation that can and does arise for people with this problem. I also thought it made a good parallel to Yukito's behaviour in CardCaptor Sakura when he and Yue were losing all their energy, which was why I chose to write it._

_I also have close relationships with people who suffer from asthma, and panic attacks, and I personally have experienced panic attacks, although thankfully mine have been fairly mild and haven't required treatment. That said, I still chose to do quite a bit of research to make sure I was getting my facts right when portraying Averil's character. I've seen people treat panic attacks disparagingly, like a person could control it if they weren't "weak" or something, and I am doing my best to make sure that I'm treating it with appropriate respect. It's the closest parallel I could think of for Watanuki's attraction of spirits. _

_As for Sara, I am striving to be both as accurate and compassionate as possible while dealing with the topic of leukemia. I have spent hours doing research and finding facts that might not even find their way into this story. I am aware that treatment is different for every person who is battling cancer, and I did my level best to present a scenario that I hope is truthful in both the technical details and in the humanity of the characters. I humbly apologize to anyone who may disagree with my writing. I thought that leukemia was a way to confront the gravity of what Sakura is facing in Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles, and I am deeply sincere in my efforts. I would never, never try to make light of this illness._

_I know that most people weren't going to attack me, anyway, but I wanted to have all those things said before I move forward with the story._

**_I am putting up a link in my profile. It is a picture of Caleb's delicious, delicious motorcycle. Drool._**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

_February 7th_

Averil's first day at his new school was tomorrow. He was very nervous about it— not that he was going to tell anyone so. It was like someone had pressed "Restart" on some video console, except that it was his life. He was restarting everything, and he barely knew what that meant.

New home. New school. New outlook on the world. New set of memories that he was only just starting to build.

No wonder he was terrified.

He was currently cooking dinner, trying to keep his mind off his nerves. Harold said their neighbour wanted to come over and meet Averil, and she was excited because Harold had told her that he was a good cook. Harold seemed to really like this neighbour—she was the one who ran the antique store—so Averil was anxious to make a good impression. He had stuffed mushrooms and baked brie for appetizers, and he was making a pork roast and baby potatoes and he had a plate full of fresh fruit and cubes of angel food cake to dip in chocolate for dessert.

He was running around the kitchen, fully aware that he looked like a psycho. Harold was in the doorway laughing at him, but he tried to ignore that.

"Only thing she's going to care about is the wine pairing," Harold informed him. "Can I help?"

"No, everything's fine!" Averil said, shoving the freshly prepared fruit into the refrigerator and dashing over to the oven to check on the brie. Then it was back to the fridge, because he'd forgotten about the cucumber he was going to slice to put on the salad he had already prepared. He yanked it out and began slicing it very rapidly. Harold left the room so he wouldn't get run over and killed.

It occurred to Averil to wonder where he'd learned all ofthis. Harold had asked him, but he didn't know the answer. Thinking about it had given him that uneasy feeling, like figuring it out would hurt. But now he wondered as he poked at a potato to see how much longer it needed to cook.

Books. A parade of books flashed before his eyes, and a hundred t.v. shows with a hundred smiling faces. It was a random assault of images that made him close his eyes and grab onto the front of the stove for support. It was a bunch of memory all at once, and it made his head hurt viciously.

"I taught myself out of cookbooks?" he muttered. "And television?" He lifted one hand from gripping the stove to rub at his forehead. "I'm a freaking genius."

"Not smart enough," drawled a voice directly beside him, and a hand clutched on his arm and yanked him backward. He was so surprised he practically jumped out of his skin.

"GOD, ZACK!" he hollered. "Don't DO that!"

Zack didn't respond, reaching past him to shut the door of the oven. Averil frowned, and looked down at himself. There was a brown line on the front of his white shirt. He'd been leaning in too far because of the memory assault, and he'd burnt his shirt. Another minute and there'd have been a burnt strip across the skin of his stomach. He ought to thank Zack for pulling him back, but the words stuck in his throat.

"And now I ruined one of the three shirts I own," he sighed, feeling defeated.

"Oh," Zack said, and turned around left the room.

"I can't tell if he's retarded or what," Averil said aloud in frustration. What the hell kind of response was that to anything? He tossed the cucumber slices onto the salad bowl in the fridge.

Zack came back, holding a shopping bag of some kind. "I forgot to give this to you earlier."

"What? What is it?"

"It's for you."

"Helpful, Zack!" Averil snapped, yanking his appetizers out of the oven. "I don't have _time_ right now!"

The front door could be heard to open and close and rich, almost sensual laughter flowed toward them from the entryway. The neighbour was here. Zack, unperturbed as ever, scooped up Averil's appetizers and slid them onto the waiting tray, while they could hear Harold asking for her coat and having her sit down.

"I'll take care of these," he said—just a bit unnecessarily, Averil thought snottily. If he only opened his mouth to point out the obvious, then maybe he should just take a vow of silence. He headed for the living room before Averil could offer this helpful advice.

Averil realized that the food in the oven needed another ten minutes or so, and that the salad was ready, so he suddenly had the time he'd just been saying he didn't have. He curiously peeked into the shopping bag Zack had left on the counter.

And tried to swallow the brick in his throat.

It was full of clothes.

Zack had gone out and bought Averil a bunch of clothes. He'd noticed that Averil didn't have anything, and he'd gone shopping for him. Averil had just yelled at him for it. But then Zack had just taken the mushrooms and the brie and gone into the other room, so maybe it didn't really bother him. Plus he hadn't come back to see if Averil needed any other help, the bastard.

Ten minutes seemed like a long time to sit with the others and not apologize. Since he wouldn't be apologizing. He figured he could just remain in the kitchen and have Harold tell their guest that art like Averil's cooking couldn't be left alone. Yeah, he'd just hide in the kitchen.

"Hey."

"When will you figure out my name?" Averil snapped.

"Come on, she wants to meet you. She thinks the food is really good."

And somehow Averil found himself following Zack into the other room, despite his desire to remain hidden. Oh, wait, he was trying to hide from Zack, not from the neighbour. He put on a polite expression as he entered the room.

She was . . . Well, she was clearly female. Practically spilling out of her blouse, in fact. Half of her long, dark hair was coiled up behind her head, while the other half was falling freely over her shoulders. She was tall and slender and she was wearing a skirt that showed off almost as much as it covered. Averil felt a deep consternation at all of this—she was forty if she was a day. Way too old to be dressing like that.

"What happened to your shirt, boy?" Harold asked, before introductions could begin.

"Oh," Averil sighed, reminded. "The oven. I—I had some memories—it was like they attacked me, really, I thought I was going to fall over—" Then he stopped and stared at the lady and blushed. She would think he was a real nutcase. Had Harold warned her about him?

"That's good, though," Harold said, obviously not caring if the neighbour thought this was all insane. "What kind of memories?"

Averil shrugged, feeling his face heat up. "Nothing important. I think I used to go to the library a lot."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Zack said. Averil tried to smack him, but Zack just took a lazy step backward, out of his reach.

"Anyway, all that aside . . . This is Yvonne. Yvonne, meet Averil."

"Just your friendly, neighbourhood psycho," Averil sighed, holding out his hand to shake hers.

She grinned at him, and shook his hand, and sparked a massive assault on his brain.

His fingers slipped away, and he clutched for something to support him. It hurt. Oh, god, how it hurt. His head was screaming. It felt like there were bright lights flashing in his eyes. It was like that car was running into him all over again, he felt like he was spinning in the air like that, smacking his head, landing and having his breath whoosh out, felt the blackness closing over his vision—

"Hey!" Zack said sharply.

Hands on him. He opened his eyes to find himself gripping Zack's arms, and Zack's hands were gripping him uncomfortably under his jaw, raising his face. He wasn't breathing so well, he didn't think. His chest hurt. He felt extremely dizzy.

"Snap out of it," Zack demanded.

"Not a panic attack," Averil mumbled, squinting as the flashes faded away. "Just . . . Hurts."

Then he realized that he was using Zack to hold himself up and they were practically embracing. He scrambled backward as quickly as he could.

"Why are you touching my FACE?"

Then he spun around to see if Yvonne had run away and if Harold was angry that Averil had ruined their dinner. Yvonne was still sitting there, looking at him with an oddly shrewd expression.

"Do you remember me?" she asked.

Dang, even her voice was all sultry. Gross.

"No," Averil snapped. "Why should I?"

"Yes, why should he?" Harold repeated suspiciously.

"Because I was there when you got hit by that car," she answered, her slightly heavy eyelids somehow even making _that_ seem sexy. God, what was _with_ her?

That thought made his head start thumping again, so he forced it away. Apparently, speculating on Yvonne's creepy cougar act made him get the Bad Memories Attack.

"I thought perhaps you were having a physical memory of the accident by looking at me," she went on. "Have you ever heard of that? Body memories, as opposed to mental memories?"

Averil shook his head. "No."

"Speaking of memories, you forgot about dinner," Zack said suddenly.

"Oh, crap!" Averil squawked, and raced back into the kitchen to remove the pork and potatoes. He was just in time, they looked perfect. "I have to get everything on the table!"

"Averil," Harold called out. "We're still working on the stuff in here, just relax for a minute."

"But . . ."

"You just had some kind of massive brainwave, you should sit down," Harold insisted as Averil walked back toward them reluctantly. Averil obediently took a seat. "Yvonne, you ought to tell Averil about your business, I think he'd like it."

Averil had to admit to curiousity about her antique store, but he wondered why Harold knew that.

"Oh?" was Yvonne's response.

"Caught him reading a book of Civil War ghost stories, that one you gave me as a gag gift," Harold continued. "You've got quite a collection of Civil War stuff, don't you?"

"I do."

And Yvonne launched into a description of her shop, punctuated every ten seconds with a command that Averil come visit her as soon as he was able—she'd started off with "tomorrow" until she'd been informed that Averil was going to school tomorrow.

"Of course, call before you come by to be sure I'm there," she said, still chattering about it as they took their seats in the dining room to eat. "My nephew Mike works there, and I sometimes have to leave him in charge while I check on my tenants. I also manage apartments, you see—"

Averil was certain he saw her give him a sly, sideways glance when she said that, but he forgot it quickly as his head was slammed with stunning pain again and he fell into his seat with a groan. What _was_ it with everything this lady said setting off the Attack?

"Hey, Averil," Harold said sharply. "Maybe you should go lie down for a while. Or . . . I mean, maybe we ought to take you to the emergency room for a scan. I'm not comfortable with this."

"I'm fine," Averil insisted, raising his head and giving Harold a smile of gratefulness for his concern. "See? Come on, I'm not going to miss out on my own meal!"

They tucked in, with many compliments to the chef. Averil was glad that even if he was making Yvonne think he was crazy, he was proving his usefulness as a houseguest. But after a minute, a hand on his wrist arrested the progress of his fork. Zack was holding him tight.

"What?" Averil snapped.

"Go get your inhaler," Zack said soberly.

Damn. He thought he'd been doing a better job of hiding it, but the last mental assault had been too much. You could actually sort of hear his breath whistling because the passage in his throat had become so narrow. He was having difficulty swallowing, but he hadn't wanted anyone to notice.

"Fine," Averil snapped, getting up.

"You were just waiting for me to tell you?" Zack asked, voice slightly tinged with amusement.

Averil stomped off, muttering, mostly to himself, "I didn't want to spoil everyone's night." He'd been keeping the inhaler in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, so he went there, fuming that Zack had called attention to his problems even more than was necessary. It made him look so stupid.

* * *

In the dining room, Zack was swearing softly under his breath, which his dinner companions couldn't help but notice. He saw them looking at him.

"He's an idiot," Zack said severely.

"He is that," Harold agreed.

Yvonne's smile was creating crinkles at the corners of her eyes. "I'm beginning to see." Those eyes were twinkling with humour. "You're awfully sweet to worry about him."

Zack just frowned down at his plate. "No one else is going to do it, right?"

"Oh, I think it's more than that," Yvonne murmured as Zack cleared his own plate so he could go look for Averil, who was clearly hiding in the bathroom out of embarrassment. She looked at Harold quite seriously. "I think he's just the right person for the job."

Harold scrubbed his hand over his jaw. "I'm worried about them."

"They're going to be fine," Yvonne pronounced.

They each ate a bit more, then Harold pushed his plate back. "I need a cigarette. Come on, let's have a smoke on the porch."

Yvonne raised her eyebrow in curiosity. "Since when do you smoke outside?"

"Shh, not so loud," Harold said, standing up, waiting for Yvonne to follow suit. "Got a freaking asthmatic kid living here, I'm not gonna smoke in the house anymore. Not gonna tell him that, either, because he'd go crazy about being an inconvenience to me."

They went outside, and Zack, who had waited just inside the kitchen listening, finally went to look for the idiot. He found him pretty easily. Hard to miss a guy sitting on the bathroom floor with his head between his knees, surrounded by scattered detritus.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying not to pass out," Averil mumbled.

"What is all this?"

"I accidentally—" Deep inhale, sounded awful. "Knocked the shelf—" Another deep breath, even worse. "Out of the— cabinet," he finished on a squeezed cough. "Can't find it. My medicine."

"You could have yelled at me to come help you. You yell at me all the time."

"Can't—" Deep inhale. "Yell. Right now."

Zack tried not to feel extremely uneasy about that. Because he was the calm one. Averil was the one who flipped out. They had to stick to their roles, because it worked so well. And so far, they hadn't seen an out-and-out panic attack. Zack was hoping to keep that streak going, so he took this with the same calm he took everything else. Even if, in this case, he didn't really feel all that calm. People suffocating to death in his bathroom was not good—no, scratch that. Averil. _Averil _suffocating in his bathroom was what made him feel so not-calm.

"Tch." That was all he could think to say. "Can't leave you alone for a minute." He knelt down to start sifting through the crap on the floor, and therefore was close enough to see that Averil was wide-eyed with fear.

"You're such—" Breathing. "A bastard."

He was shaking, too, Zack noticed.

"I know I'm useless." A few ugly-sounding coughs. "You don't have to— point it out."

"Are you panicking?" Zack asked in his most mild voice.

"Yes," Averil whimpered. "I can't. _Breathe_."

"Here," Zack said, triumphantly clutching the inhaler and handing it over. For a minute, he thought he was going to have to administer the medicine himself, like that first day, but Averil stilled his hands and managed it himself. Zack waited with the utmost patience for a full minute before he said, "Better?"

"Yeah," Averil said.

His breathing didn't sound any less painful, despite what he said. "Still panicking?"

"Yeah," Averil whispered.

Oh, that was why. Not good. "Do you have medication for that?"

Averil snorted. "No. I probably should. I think there's anti-anxiety stuff you can take. But I can't afford to go to the doctor." He met Zack's eyes, then, stunned. "Hey. I knew that. I know something about myself."

"What's so great about knowing something like that?" Zack muttered, very disheartened that if Averil was having a panic attack, there was nothing he could do about it.

"What is your PROBLEM?" Averil snapped. "Haven't you ever heard if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all?"

Maybe he should have said he was worried about the attack, instead of about how sad it was that Averil couldn't afford doctor's bills. Looking at that, he hadn't made himself very clear. This was why he hated talking to people. Probably too late to fix it now, though.

"I'll tell Grandfather," he said instead. "He would—"

"NO!" Averil yelped. Then he burst into tears.

"Hey." But Averil just huddled in on himself and started shaking, not just from tears but from nerves. "Hey," he tried again, but it didn't work, not even when he smacked Averil on the head. "Um, stop," he ventured, and even went so far as to put his hand on Averil's back. But that just made him able to feel how rapidly the other boy's heart was beating.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god, I hate this, I really hate this," Averil muttered, over and over. "I hate doing this, oh god, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I just don't want to be a burden. Don't tell Harold."

Zack didn't think there was much he could do about this, short of clobbering Averil into unconsciousness. While he reserved that as an option, he thought it probably shouldn't be the first one. So he settled down on the floor next to him, leaning his back on the cabinet under the sink. He left his hand on Averil's back. Not really sure what to do, but knowing he'd seen girls doing this when people were crying, he started moving his hand in a circle.

While he sat there, rubbing a circle over Averil's back, he contemplated what school would be like tomorrow. For a moment. Then he told himself that what will be, will be, and there was no point worrying about it. He noticed that Averil was calming down, though, so he kept moving his hand slowly.

"_Panic attack."_ The name itself suggested that just keeping his hand in that rhythm would help. It would probably be good if he talked, even though he didn't want to. He always felt stupid when he talked.

"Just stop thinking about that stuff," Zack said finally. "About being a burden or whatever, and about how much you hate having these. Just think about something else. You can breathe now, so you don't even have a reason to be afraid anymore."

His breathing grew slow and even, and he wasn't shaking or crying anymore. He still didn't lift his head, but Zack figured that was just due to embarrassment. "Better?"

"Yeah, Lee, I'm good now," he mumbled.

Zack frowned. "What did you call me?"

Averil raised his head to look at him with red-rimmed eyes, frowning with confusion. "Uh, didn't I call you Zack?"

Zack decided that whoever Lee was, making a point of it now was just going to give Averil another one of those headache attack things. "Yeah, guess I just didn't hear you."

He stood up. "Come on."

"Yvonne is probably still out there," Averil said, looking at the floor.

"So?"

"So she's your neighbour and she wanted to meet your houseguest and I embarrassed everybody."

"Yvonne doesn't care. Come on."

There was no arguing with Zack when he got like this, although Averil did grumble all the way back to the kitchen about his level of sensitivity (somewhere in the subzero range) and his ability to know what Yvonne was thinking (an impossibility) and that furthermore he was a jerk and Averil hadn't asked for his help in the first place and he shouldn't have followed him.

Zack tuned him out, knowing it was just because he was too embarrassed to say thank you. He even considered plugging his ears to make his point, but Averil was likely to take that the wrong way. It wasn't that Zack didn't care what he felt. It was just that Zack wanted him to be honest about it. Was that really so much to ask?

It wasn't worth bringing up now. If he started Averil on some kind of rant, he wouldn't get to try the angel food cake, and he wanted to see if Averil made dessert as well as he made dinner.

* * *

_February 8__th_

Averil looked at the school building and stopped in his tracks.

Zack stopped**,** too, and just looked at him. Why ask the question aloud when his flat expression would do just as well? Or at least that's what Averil imagined he was thinking, and he imagined that the question was _"What's wrong with you now?"_

He stared up at the historic architecture, framed by tall trees, and tried to breathe**.** He touched his pocket to be sure that his inhaler was there. He'd already been here once before, to meet the principal and arrange for his transfer. But this was different. Now he had to start worrying about interacting with other students and keeping impeccable grades. Sure, he remembered how to cook—but what if he'd forgotten how to do math or something?

"Coming?" Zack asked.

Averil smacked him. "You could show a little sensitivity! Maybe I'm nervous, did that occur to you?"

Zack started walking, his expression not changing in the slightest. "Maybe you should stop underestimating me."

Averil was, to say the least, startled by that, since Zack so rarely said anything of the kind. But what he'd said could be taken two ways, couldn't it? He could be saying that of course he'd noticed Averil was nervous (which would mean he didn't care), or he could be saying that he considered himself capable of handling all of Averil's problems and there was no reason to be nervous (which was . . . weird to think about).

Whichever way he'd meant it, he was still, quite literally, one of the only people that Averil knew, and it made him nervous to watch him walk off like that. He hurried to catch up, and he was so intent on doing so that he forgot to be afraid as he passed into the grandiose old building.

He'd already had a tour of the school campus, but he stuck close to Zack nonetheless. It wasn't a matter of getting lost. It was a matter of _feeling_ lost, which Zack was good at dispelling. Not that he would ever tell Zack something like that. Zack, however, didn't seem to need to be told, since he was keeping an eye on Averil and trying to stay with him. They went directly to their first classroom, despite the fact that people were attempting to greet Zack in the halls.

Zack wasn't exactly giving him a tour or anything, since he didn't say a word except "Good morning" to the people they passed. But he did get them safely to class, and Averil dropped gratefully into a seat. He considered for a moment to see if he was okay without his inhaler, and he decided he was. He _really_ needed to do something about his asthma and his anxiety being so closely linked. He was going to give himself a heart attack one of these days.

"Zack! Good morning!"

"Hey, Sunny," Zack responded, with the closest thing to a smile Averil had seen from him today. He was sitting down at the desk in front of Averil, but he stopped to receive an exuberant hug from someone.

Averil looked up in curiosity. And felt his entire world shift slightly on its axis. She was beautiful. No, she wasn't beautiful, that didn't do justice to her. She was just . . . perfect. Her hair was long and black and riotously curly and her face was delicate and sculpted and she—well, he was a teenager, these things were important—she was nicely proportioned, to say the least.

"Are you _him_?" the girl asked in a stage whisper.

Oh. Him. She was asking him.

"Uh, I don't know. A-a-am I?" Oh god, he was stammering like an idiot.

"Oh, you're wearing the shirt I picked out!" she said in delight. "Of course you're him!"

Averil fingered the shirt he was wearing for a moment, one of the things that had been in the bag Zack had shoved at him yesterday. "Oh. Um, you picked this out? I, um, well, Zack didn't tell me he had _help_," he said with a vicious look at the unflappable guy, who didn't even respond.

"Zack was worried that you wouldn't like them, so he asked me to come with him," the vision of beauty said, taking the chair next to him and talking as comfortably as if they'd been best friends for years.

"Thank you," Averil sighed in happiness. She was sitting with him and talking to him and she picked out clothes for him and she was perfect and—

Oh, _god_. That meant she _knew_. She knew about him being homeless and having amnesia and everything. As if his face wasn't red enough already. He covered his face with his hands and tried to wish for a black hole to appear under his chair.

"Anyway, I'm Sunny. Your name is Averil, right?"

"Yeah," he managed to mumble.

"Zack told me that you're staying with him and his grandfather right now. His grandfather is really cool, right?" As she was chattering away at him, she was pulling a notebook, a textbook, and a pencil from her backpack and stacking them very precisely on her desk. "He also said you're a great cook, which I think is really interesting. Do you play sports or anything?" Somehow, in the course of gesturing while she talked, she managed to knock her stuff off her desk. "Oops!"

It was like Zack had been waiting for it. He caught everything as it fell and deposited it back on her desk. Averil watched this with fascination, because it looked almost choreographed.

"Thanks, Zack. Sorry, you should know this about me, Averil. I'm a huge klutz, and I mean _huge_. I should go ahead and apologize about ten times right now, because I'll probably accidentally hurt you a lot. I do that to anyone I'm around."

Averil felt hope spring. "You think— you think we'll be around each other?" he asked with delight.

"Of course!" she said. She had the most _adorable_ habit of tipping her head to the side when she smiled. "If you're a friend of Zack's, then you have to be cool!"

"Doesn't that mean you're cool?" Zack drawled.

She blushed and laughed. "I didn't mean me! I'm not that special, I'm really not," she said, her attention on Averil again. "I think Zack is only friends with me because I keep the other girls away from him!"

"Oh. Are you guys together?" Averil asked dully, feeling that hope plummet into the depths of the sea. If Sunny was Zack's girlfriend, then he had no chance. Zack hadn't mentioned a girlfriend before now, but that didn't mean he didn't have one, since he never talked about anything.

"Oh, no!" Sunny laughed again. "Not that I don't think he's great," she said affectionately, reaching up to pat Zack on the shoulder, as if to comfort him for his rotten luck in not dating her. At least that's how Averil interpreted it, since it was the entire male population's rotten luck for not dating her. "But, anyway, no. Besides, Zack doesn't _date_."

"You don't?" Averil asked in surprise.

"He _likes_ women," Sunny said, waving her hand expressively and nearly knocking her textbook off her desk again. "He just doesn't date them. It's really pitiful to watch them hang all over him."

"They don't interest me," Zack muttered.

"That's cold," Averil responded, and couldn't help another adoring look in Sunny's direction. "Don't listen to him, you're very interesting."

Sunny giggled, but the teacher had walked into the room, and it was time to start class. Averil hoped he had more classes with her today.

* * *

"I can't believe you didn't tell me about her!" Averil reprimanded Zack as they walked to their bus stop. "How could you fail to mention her?"

Zack kept his eyes on the road in search of an approaching bus. "I didn't mention any of my friends from school."

"B-b-but Sunny is gorgeous and friendly and delightful!" Averil rhapsodized. "Besides, apparently she went clothes shopping with you, so she's obviously a _good_ friend." Then he scowled and tried to punch Zack, who blocked it lazily. "I can't believe you did that. I didn't want to tell anyone about me, and you went and explained the whole thing to the most beautiful girl in the school!"

"Is she?" Zack asked without interest. "Well, she's not the kind of person who would think your circumstances made a difference. So don't worry about it."

"Don't WORRY about it?" Averil fumed as they got onto the bus.

"You're just mad that she doesn't want a boyfriend until after she finishes high school."

Okay, yeah, he was more than a little disappointed by that. But that was hardly the point. "I'm a pathetic freaking charity case, and that's the last thing I want a girl like Sunny to know! And YOU just thought it would be okay to bring her IN ON IT—"

"You're not a charity case," Zack cut him off, frowning deeply. Whoa. It was the most dramatic facial expression yet. "I gave you that stuff because I wanted to."

"It certainly wasn't because I asked for it, so—"

Zack sighed, then stuck his fingers in his ears and looked out the window. Averil was stunned into silence for a moment, which caused him to notice that people were giving him curious looks. Well, screw them.

"Don't put your fingers in your ears! You can't ignore me when I'm trying to tell you what an idiot you are . . ."

The lecture went unheard by Zack, but that didn't stop Averil from giving it, until Zack finally unplugged his ears and Averil ceased to see if he had some kind of response.

"This is your stop."

"What?"

"You need to get off the bus here. It's your stop. You have to walk to the end of the block and turn right."

"I KNOW THAT! I'm not stupid. But where are you going? Aren't you getting off?"

"I'm going to archery practice."

"Oh," Averil said, feeling strangely disappointed. He assumed he felt disheartened by losing the opportunity to complete his diatribe. Zack really ought to know how pushy he was, just shoving clothes and friends and help at Averil all the time.

Then Averil remembered what he had tucked into the pocket of his bookbag that morning, and he said a hurried goodbye and hopped off the bus. Zack started glaring at him, for some reason. It was possible that Averil's abrupt change in attitude was suspicious, he supposed. But he waved a slightly sarcastic goodbye as the bus started moving again, and practically skipped down the street. He hoped he was on time.

He rounded the corner, onto his street, and sped up. He was on time! There she was!

"Hello, Karen!"

The little girl had been kicking her legs against the wall—snow-free this time, the stuff had disappointingly melted right away—but she stopped and waved at him cheerily. "Hi, Mr. Averil!"

He laughed. "You don't have to call me 'Mister,' you can just call me Averil."

She beamed at him like he'd told her she was some long-lost princess. "Okay!"

"I was hoping I would see you today. Guess what I have for you?"

"You have something for me?"

"Yeah!" he said, digging into his bag.

"_Of course you need to come shopping with me! If you're doing all the cooking around here, you ought to know better than me what we need from the store. But I can see your ribs are still hurting you pretty bad. Next time, then."_

"_O-okay. Sure."_

"_Get some flour," Zack spoke up. "I want those breadsticks again."_

"_You don't get to make demands!" Averil hollered at him._

_Harold just laughed. "Averil, can I get anything for you while I'm out?"_

_Averil shook his head, blushing._

"_Would it make you feel better if I said this is a thank you for all the cooking? If there's anything you want, let me know. It doesn't have to be groceries."_

_Averil looked up shyly. "Could I have some yarn? And a pair of knitting needles?" He winced. "Sorry if that's too much."_

_Harold's mouth twitched, like he wasn't sure if he was supposed to smile or not. Then he burst out laughing. "It's just perfect that you knit, boy," he chuckled._

_Averil glared at him__**. **__"My mother taught me how." That steered him dangerously close to blocked memories and pain, so he didn't try to think about it further._

"_Sure, I'll get some," Harold chuckled. "See you boys in a bit."_

_He returned with a gigantic bag from a local craft store, and a completely bewildered face. "I had to ask for help." The bag contained two sizes of knitting needles and enough yarn to keep Averil busy for a decade or so. "And I didn't know what colour you wanted, so . . ."_

"_So you got some of each?" Averil asked with awe._

_Zack had gone out to the car and retrieved some of the groceries. He set them down, pointed at a rather handsome dark green, and said, "That one's a good colour."_

"_Glad to have your OPINION," Averil called—maybe just a __touch__ sarcastically—at his retreating figure as it went out for more groceries. Then he turned to the yarn with rapture in his eyes and started picking out the colours he liked best for his task. He looked up once, wide-eyed, at Harold. "This is too much, it's— I'm sorry, I should have been more specific about what I wanted, you shouldn't have—"_

"_Listen, Averil. I appreciate your concern, I do. But money is something we don't have to worry about in this house. All right?"_

_Averil's mouth opened and closed without sound._

"_I became a surgeon because it was the right career for me, and I enjoyed saving lives. But it came with a pretty good paycheck, and I've got a comfortable retirement ahead of me. Money is something to be shared, in my book. Doesn't do a person any good just sitting there. Besides," he finished with a chuckle, reaching out to mess up Averil's hair, "I think I like spending it on you. Zack's been my only grandkid long enough."_

Averil felt the warmth of that moment creep into him again as he retrieved the mittens he'd knitted from his bag. They were a jewel-bright aqua green, a colour he'd chosen thinking it would look nice with her hair, with a little stripe of cream at the knuckles and wrists.

"I was worried about you not having any gloves, so I made you these," he said shyly.

She gasped and reached out her hand, but didn't touch them. It was an almost reverent gesture. "Really? They're really for me?"

"Yeah, go on."

She took them, and tugged them on eagerly. "They're so pretty, Averil!"

"I wish they were pretty," he said grudgingly, despite the fact that he knew full well they were awesome. He'd torn his work out and started over about four times before he was satisfied. "Do you like the colour?"

"I really, really love it!" she said enthusiastically. "They're perfect!" She flexed her hands, and he was proud to see that they fit her. "Thank you!"

He gave her a fond little pat on the head, gratified by her enthusiasm, and she froze for a moment. So did he. Maybe he shouldn't touch her? He pulled his hand back.

But she grabbed his hand with both of hers and squeezed it. "You surprised me!" she said cheerfully, clinging to his hand. "But you're so nice, and I like you. Are you going to stay with me while I wait for my mother?"

"If you want me to," he said, still surprised. He sat down on the wall by her, and she never let go of his hand.

"Hello there!" came a cheerful voice behind him. "Remember me?"

Averil turned to see the very bright and pretty woman from last time, walking toward them from the school. Her hair was all wrapped up and tucked into a warm cap today. "Uh, yeah, Mrs. Um . . ."

"Just call me Dovie," she drawled. "Oh, my, Karen, what pretty mittens! I noticed you didn't have any before, your mother must have got some for you."

"Averil made them for me!" Karen said cheerfully, swinging their linked hands.

He immediately tried to avoid eye contact. He had absolutely no reason to be making gifts for little girls he didn't know, so he couldn't explain it. It was just that . . . she ought to have them. Loneliness radiated off her almost visibly, and somehow she reminded him of himself. Sitting there all alone, scared to talk to her mother and having no one else to help.

"Did he now?" Dovie said. "Well, you're very talented, Averil. That was sweet of you."

"I just didn't want her to be cold," he mumbled.

"Looks like you two are the best of friends already," she said with a smile.

That silver sedan came around the corner and pulled up to the curb. Karen's mother. Karen leaped to her feet, dropping Averil's hand immediately. The window rolled down.

"You again!" the severe-faced woman snapped at Averil. She saw Dovie standing behind the wall, and gave her a good glare. "I don't know what kind of school this is, if you're letting riff-raff around my child!"

Dovie glared right back. "He is not riff-raff, he is one of our neighbours, and he's also standing right there!"

As if reminded, Karen's mother turned her attention back to him. "Stay away from my daughter," she said. "She doesn't need creepy neighbours distracting her all the time. She has important things to focus on, and I don't want her spending her time with you."

"Important things?" Averil frowned, but he looked at Karen. She fidgeted and blushed.

"My child is a genuine prodigy on the piano, and she has to go home and practice. Get in the car," she snapped at Karen. Karen jumped to obey. "I don't want to see you near her again!" The window rolled up and the car sped away.

Averil turned to Dovie, and found her near tears.

"I hate that woman," she said, fuming. "She shouldn't treat her little girl like that. Nobody ought to treat a little girl like that."

"She doesn't even say her name," Averil said, bewildered.

Two of the other people who worked at the school came outside and walked up to them. They stood on either side of Dovie, and the woman put an arm around her waist while the man patted her shoulder comfortingly.

"We've got to do something about her, Sasha," Dovie said miserably.

The man opened his mouth, but jumped when Sasha reached around Dovie to pinch him.

"No, Oscar," she said.

"Fine," he sighed.

Averil decided they were very weird and he ought to change the subject. "Aren't there two other guys who work here?"

"Oh, no. That was my brother and my husband," Dovie said. "They were just visiting. Well, Alex worked here for a while, but he went back to school. He's studying to be a lawyer."

"Oh. Is your brother in school, too?"

Dovie shook her head, smiling. "Nope. He's a mystery, our Ian. He was going to _Yale_, and I do mean _Yale_, and he dropped out. Never told me why." She frowned, for a minute, and Sasha gave her a little squeeze. That made Dovie shake herself out of it, smile at Averil, and say "It's a little cold out here for just chatting. You're welcome to come in for a bit and meet the other kids, if you'd like to?"

Averil, surprisingly, wouldn't have minded that. Dovie was all smiles and generosity, and just being around her was like watching the sun come out. It wasn't that he was attracted to her or anything. She just seemed to carry around that warm feeling.

"Oh. No, thanks. I'd like to, but I have some things to do at—Um, at the house."

She wore that cheerful smile again, and she said, "I don't think they'd mind if you said 'at home,' you know. I think they'd like that."

Averil could feel himself blushing enormously, and he squeezed out a goodbye and ran for it. It wasn't because he was trying to escape or anything. He wasn't a coward! He just had things to do! He had all that yarn that needed to be knitted into things, so he was making a snug, dark blue scarf for Harold. And another pair of gloves. Probably for Zack. But only because that really nice dark green colour needed to be used for _something_, not because he wanted to give anything to Zack.

He started fantasizing about giving a matching set to Sunny, a hat and gloves and scarf all together. It ought to be a really pretty yellow, he should see if he had any of that . . .

"Welcome home, Averil."

He nearly jumped out of his skin. He'd been so intent on going inside that he hadn't noticed Harold and Yvonne leaning against the corner of the house and smoking.

"ARGH! Uh, I mean, hi. Hello. What are you guys doing out here?"

Harold waved his cigarette in a lazy illustration, then dropped it and ground it out beneath his foot. Yvonne more delicately tamped hers down on the wall and then flicked it away. God, she had awfully long fingers, didn't she? Harold's hands looked just like Zack's did, sort of square and strong— not that he really cared what the hell Zack's hands looked like. He just had to noticed these things if he was going to make a pair of gloves.

It struck him then what a very silly hobby he had. He shouldn't even be wasting his time doing it. He _should_ be out there, looking for work. He couldn't just be a houseguest forever. If he wanted to stay with the Williams (and he had to admit to himself that he did) then he needed to start paying them rent. Knitting things for them didn't count.

"I need a job," he mumbled to himself.

"Oh? Time to start saving up money for college?" Harold asked jovially.

Averil flinched, not realizing they were close enough to hear him as they trailed him inside. "Yeah, something like that."

"Uh, Yvonne?" Harold asked quizzically.

Averil turned to see what was going on. Yvonne was staring at him with a very strange gleam in her eyes.

"Yvonne, I don't like that look. What are you planning?"

Like she was going to devour him.

* * *

_**A/N:** I'm assuming everyone knows that particular look of Yuko's. The cat who got the canary._

_Anyway, I've never been there and know nothing about it, but Balboa High School is a real high school in San Francisco! I put a link on my profile page!_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

_February 10__th_

Alex was out in the schoolyard, doing as his wife had requested and keeping an eye on her favourite student while Dee rounded up a couple of troublemakers (probably including her second favourite student, Thomas). Karen sat on the fence, which was normal for her, but she kept looking down the street with an eager face—in the wrong direction. Her mother always came in from the other side of the street.

Dovie was right, then. Karen had finally made a friend. Between her suspicions that Karen was neglected and the poor mite's health problems, Dee was constantly worried after the little girl. Yesterday, when the neighbour boy had given Karen a pair of gloves, Dee came home all but singing and dancing.

It was a good thing, Alex supposed. So long as the neighbour boy was only sitting there keeping her company and not doing anything creepy, anyway. Seemed to be helping Karen. She looked happier than she had when he'd first seen her a couple of weeks ago. That was the day Ian had showed up, he remembered now.

Alex had been planning to talk to Dovie about her brother in any case. Since she joined him outside just then, he decided to go for it.

"Dee?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Ian said anything to you yet about what the hell's going on with him?"

"Language, Alex," she said with an affectionate sort of exasperation. She was always getting on him to keep his mouth clean around the kids. "And no. But you noticed, huh?"

"Noticed that he's been sleeping in our living room and hasn't mentioned going home? Yeah, kind of hard to miss."

"You think he's running from something in particular, or just running from himself?"

"Hard to say. He always plays so close to the chest, you know how he is."

"Yeah," she sighed. She worried over Ian even more than she did over Karen, and he hated seeing such tension on her face when he was so used to seeing her happy. He ran his hand across her back in a soothing pattern. "When he had that falling out with Daddy and then came out here to help me find you . . . I asked him a few times what happened to him. Why he dropped out of school and everything. He wouldn't tell me. One of his friends told me there was some girl at some club that screwed him over, but when I brought that up he just laughed it off."

"Well, whatever happened, it seems like it's come back up. I get the sense he's hiding out at our place. Not that the sleeper sofa is a great place to hide, but . . ."

"Maybe we'd better ask him."

Alex didn't relish the idea of broaching such an unpleasant subject with his wife's brother. For one thing, he was a grumpy bastard. For another, Alex was all too aware that he'd been _allowed_ to marry Dee and he tried to stay on Ian's good side whenever possible—because if Ian had judged him good enough for Dee, then Alex ought to prove it.

"Let's give him one more week," he suggested. "If he hasn't left by then, we'll bring it up."

Dovie looked none too pleased by that, but she nodded her head. She was looking at Karen, and Alex turned to see what had caught her little girl had perked up and was waving enthusiastically down the street. There was that black-haired kid, who was waving back.

"What's that guy's name again?"

"Averil. Lives with the Williams . . . Hey," she said, sounding indignant. "How come I don't know why he lives there? I always know the good gossip and nobody told me when he moved in!"

"Maybe he don't like people to know," Alex drawled, with maybe just a hint of sarcasm. "Anyway, you sure he's all right, to be hanging around her?"

Dee looked at him like he was crazy. "Don't you see how happy she is?"

"Yeah. But Dee, you always just assume the best of people. How do you know this Averil guy isn't some creep?"

Oops. He'd gone and opened his mouth when he should have kept it shut, again. Dee was glaring at him like _he_ was the creep.

"Because he's a sweet boy, that's why. I've talked to him a few times. He's just concerned about her, the way I am. He thought she seemed awful lonely, and he was worried about her asthma being aggravated by the weather, so he thought he should keep an eye on her. Now he says he wants to get her to open up to him and tell him whether or not her mother's hurting her."

But Averil wasn't crossing the street to join Karen, not today. He was hurrying toward the antique shop. Karen stopped waving.

"Sorry!" his hollering voice echoed across the street. "I'm running late today!"

He ducked inside, and Karen's shoulders slumped with disappointment.

Dee clucked her tongue. "That's too bad. I almost think he needs a friend just as badly as she does, you know. They just seem to get along like a house on fire, for some reason."

Alex just frowned. "I guess. Still, do me a favour and keep an eye on him, just to ease my mind."

"Don't worry," she laughed. "Oscar's got that covered."

* * *

Averil blinked several times and tried to look at the room he'd entered. The lighting was sort of dim in here, and he had to wait for his eyes to adjust. When they had, he almost wished they hadn't. This place was a mess.

Objects were piled haphazardly around the room, with no organization that he could make out, and it was all covered in a layer of dust thick enough to write in. Some things were stacked on top of each other so precariously that he'd be worried they'd fall—if their dust didn't make it clear they'd been that way for a while. Some items that looked dangerous were left out right in the open, while some completely mundane-looking items were locked into a glass-fronted cabinet. There was wooden desk with an old-fashioned cash register set up next to a swinging door, and crammed into the corner by them was a round table with a cloth over it and a tea service set up—although the dishes looked to be empty. He would consider it a display of the wares, except there didn't seem to be any other pretty dishes like that in the shop. He guessed it was just that she took her breaks right there in front of her customers.

All in all, the insanity of the place just _screamed_ Yvonne.

Just then, the swinging door—well, swung—and out walked (or possibly bounced) a boy not much older than Averil. He had black hair, and his face was so round and cute that he seemed more like a girl.

"Hi!" he chirped. "I'm Mike!" His voice was perky and Averil found himself taking a step back. Something about this guy seemed really familiar, but that was stupid because he was sure they'd never met. Well, reasonably sure. As sure as Averil could be about these things. "Come on back, Averil, Aunt Yvonne's been expecting you, you are Averil, right? Well, I'm Mike, I guess I said that, and this is the shop, and through here is the kitchen which we use to make tea for customers, but I guess I should save that kind of thing for when Yvonne gives you the formal tour, huh?"

Could one be drowned in words? Because that's what it felt like. Averil was being drowned in words.

"He's here, Auntie!" Mike broke off his chattering to announce. There was a narrow passageway behind the swinging door that had some filing cabinets in it, and then through another doorway was a spacious and brightly lit kitchen. Yvonne herself was in the kitchen, standing in front of an open refrigerator with a frown on her face.

"Welcome, Mr. Reed," she said smoothly, straightening up from her perusal. God what was she _wearing_, when her shop was open and _customers_ could come in? It was like she was offering her knockers on a tray. Averil dropped his eyes to the ground and tried not to have an asthma attack out of sheer embarrassment.

"You can call me Averil," he gasped out.

She shut the door of the fridge with a motion that could only be described as petulant. "I wanted to open a bottle of wine to celebrate, but we don't have any good snacks to go with it," she pouted dramatically.

"Who cares?" Mike said enthusiastically. "We don't need snacks. Wine, wine, wine," he chanted in a sing-song, bouncing over to a drawer and removing a corkscrew.

"I'm sixteen," Averil said.

"So?"

"So I can't drink."

Yvonne actually looked confused by that, for some reason. "Well, that's more for me and Mike, then," she said at last, smiling.

Ah-HAH! He'd finally figured it out, what her smile was. It was a genuine Chesire Cat grin. And he hated it already. Why had he agreed to do this?

_Because you need the money, stupid_.

Oh. Right.

"Well, let's all adjourn to the other room, then, shall we? Snacks, by the way," she said as she somehow (he was beginning to suspect magic) worked her slinky legs into motion without flashing him, "are one of the things you are going to be remedying, Averil."

"I am? I thought I was going to work in the shop."

"You are going to work in the shop, among other things. I'm also hiring you to cook for me, you see. And really, anything else I want you to do. I might send you on errands for me. It would be highly useful to have an errand boy."

"I'm not an errand boy," he muttered. But why was he complaining? What had he really expected out of Yvonne as an employer, if not this capricious nonsense? "But if you want to hire me as your personal chef or something . . ."

"Yay!" Mike cheered, accepting a glass of wine from Yvonne. "Auntie told me all about your cooking," he said. "I can't wait."

"Do you live here?"

"Yep!"

"And don't you work for her . . .?" "Sort of," Mike grinned. "I mostly just keep an eye on the shop for her. But I don't want to do it in the evening anymore, so you'll do that. You only need to stay in the shop until six or seven, so then you'll come back here into the house and make dinner!"

"About that . . ." Averil stammered. "Isn't the shop open right now? Shouldn't we . . .?"

"There's a bell that chimes in the house when the door to the shop opens," Yvonne reassured him. "I don't usually lock up and set the alarms until I go to bed."

"So you don't have set business hours?"

"Not really. Many of my customers are by phone, in any case. But I feel that if someone finds their way into this neighbourhood and discovers my shop, then they were _meant_ to be here."

"Meant to? Like fate or something?"

"Exactly like fate," she replied with an almost feral smile. "I'm glad you agree."

"I didn't say I agreed!" Averil snapped. "That's a crazy idea! It's not fate to go antique shopping!"

Yvonne just gave him her Chesire smile. "Wait till you look at some of the things I have. You might just come to believe that the pieces choose their owners."

Averil harrumphed at that. "Is part of my job going to be cleaning and organizing that stuff?" he asked hopefully. He didn't think he could stand working here if he had to just look at that mess and not do anything about it.

"There are several items that have to be maintained regularly, and you'll have to be taught how to handle them," Yvonne said thoughtfully. "But everything _could_ use a good dusting, and maybe we ought to update our inventory." She beamed at Mike, who beamed back. "I told you he was going to be useful!" she said happily.

Averil rolled his eyes, and then had to repeat the performance as Mike poured a second glass of wine for himself and Yvonne.

"Okay, you ready to start?" Yvonne asked Averil as she sipped her wine.

Averil shrugged and nodded.

"Great! Make dinner!"

"Make . . . Now?"

"Yes," she said firmly. "I'm famished." She even threw her arm over her forehead and struck a dramatic pose. Averil got up and went back to the kitchen muttering under his breath about crazed cougars with drunken fluffy-headed idiots for nephews. He flung open a cupboard and stopped cold. If it was possible to stare at something that wasn't there, he was doing that. Because she had basically nothing to cook with in here.

"What am I supposed to make?" he hollered. "How about a bowl of AIR sprinkled with salt and _herbs de provence_? I was going to say salt and pepper, but I don't think you have any!"

"Oh, right," Yvonne called, getting up and following him into the kitchen. "Thank you for reminding me! Money for groceries . . ."

In the end, she sent Averil to pick up some Chinese takeout from her favourite place, which turned out to be an insanely long walk just for freaking Schezuan Chicken. Which Averil didn't actually like, so he excused himself and went home. He was just there to get the details of the job, anyway, and he didn't much want to stay and watch Mike and Yvonne work their way through _another_ bottle of wine. It was kind of nice that going home took less than a minute, since he'd already been worn out from a long day at school before he'd had to deal with Yvonne.

He trudged into the bedroom, which had gotten pretty tight for space since they'd shoved a second bed in here. Zack was seated at the desk that was now crammed into the corner, apparently doing homework. He kept doing it as Averil came in.

"How was it?"

Averil threw himself onto his bed, closed his eyes, and groaned.

"Dramatic much?"

Averil cracked his eye open to glare at him. "She's going to kill me. She's a slave driver."

"She can't be that bad."

"She's _almost_ as demanding as you."

Zack looked up from his homework long enough to nearly-smirk, then he went back to it.

"That's it?" Averil asked incredulously. "That's all you're going to ask me?"

"I figured you were going to tell me anyway."

Averil raised himself up on his hands so he could give Zack a good angry look. "Maybe you shouldn't go around ASSUMING things about other PEOPLE," he began hotly, but then he sighed and lay back down again. "Never mind, I'm too tired."

"She actually wore you out so much you can't yell at me? Amazing."

"HEY! I don't— I only yell at you because you're so infuriating, so it's your fault!"

"Guess you're not that tired," Zack sighed.

Averil rolled over and gazed blankly at the ceiling. He had homework, too. But doing it right now would require him to move, and that was too much effort to put into anything. Including eating, despite the fact that he was really hungry. "I didn't even get dinner," he moaned.

There was a rustling sound that he was too weary to turn his head to investigate, then something beaned him in the side of the head.

"HEY!" He sat up, fumbling to grab the offending object. "What are you doing throwing things at me?" He picked up a sandwich bag that had some cookies in it. "Are these the ones I made?"

"Yeah. If you're hungry . . ."

"You _threw_ them at me, I don't want to eat them," he grumbled, despite the fact that he was taking one out and doing this grumbling through a mouthful of shortbread.

"Sorry." Zack was sitting up and actually looking sort of repentant. "I thought you knew I was. You really can't see anything out of that eye, can you?"

Averil's hand slid over the pale and sightless eye. He knew it was something he was used to—at least not a result of the car accident, if not strictly normal—but that was as far as he'd allowed it to go. "No, I can't," he said. He continued eating his cookie, feeling more subdued now.

"How did it happen?"

Just because he was amazed by Zack's curiosity, he tried to think about that. Tried to answer the question. Then Averil fell back on the bed, clutching his temples in shock. "No," he bit out. "It's blocked."

"Oh."

"I think he cried. But he always cries when I'm hurt . . . No! No, ugh . . ."

"Who does?"

"I don't know."

"Lee? You called me Lee the other day."

Averil hissed through his teeth and wondered if his whole face had exploded from the pressure and was spilling blood over his bed, because that's what it felt like. "Stop, stop, stop," he begged. "I can't." He curled his body up, resisting the painful intrusion, the flashing lights that warned him how bad this was. "No, stop. It hurts. It hurts."

"Okay, okay," Zack said in real alarm. "Just . . . Tell me something else. Did you see Karen today?"

"No," he groaned. "I waved at her, but I told Yvonne I'd come straight over after school, so I didn't want to be late."

"That's too bad."

"Yeah. She looked really disappointed, actually. How messed up is that?"

"Is what?" "That I'm the closest thing she's got to a friend, that's messed up. If she looks forward so much to seeing _me_ . . ." Averil sighed. "You know, I have to do my homework now, I really do."

"Can you see straight?" "Yeah, it didn't last long this time."

"Okay."

* * *

"If she looks forward so much to seeing _me_ . . ."

What was so strange about that?

"I have to do my homework now, I really do."

After that shock of pain, after making Zack worry that he'd have to get Grandfather, that something was really going wrong this time—he wanted to do homework?

"Can you see straight?"

"Yeah, it didn't last long this time."

Didn't last long, but it was clearly traumatic. Yet Averil was more concerned about his homework, and he knew it was because he was worried about being a burden on them. He wanted to repay them by succeeding as much as possible. And it seemed the only way Zack could help was to make a list of the topics he had to avoid bringing up so he didn't hurt him.

"Okay."

It wasn't really okay, but what else was there to say?

Averil snatched up his bookbag and pulled a few things out, and he began to hum as he worked out solutions to the math problems in his textbook. Like it didn't worry him that he was half-blind and thinking about it made him see stars? It did worry him, Zack knew it did. But he'd never let on. He didn't want to be a burden, not even an emotional burden.

Zack couldn't figure this guy out, despite the fact that they shared a bedroom, classroom, and everything else at this point. He'd never dreamed that people could be so complicated. He didn't think he himself was complicated at all, Averil's bitter rants about his inscrutability aside. But Averil, he was a mystery.

Karen looked forward to seeing someone who cared about her, who gave her a gift simply out of kindness. Averil questioned that, for some reason. Didn't he have any idea how strange it was for anyone to care about a lonely little girl? Averil himself felt alone like that, and he claimed that it was strange for Harold to take him in. So he ought to know how rare his kindness to Karen was.

Didn't he pay attention to the similarities? Apparently not. Nor did he seem to realize that it was doubly strange for him to look out for and try to heal the hurts of others, when he was going through so many things himself. This intense block he had on his past, the one that caused him such terrible pain . . . It worried Zack. But Averil was more concerned with Karen, and with procuring this job so he could reciprocate Grandfather's generosity. And still he turned around and claimed he was useless, that he was nothing.

Didn't he see himself at all?

* * *

_February 10__th_

Lee held Sara against him as they made their way back to the living room. He'd convinced Tom to go to school for a while and meet with a couple of his professors about make-up work and attendance to cover the amount of time that he would be missing while Sara continued to cycle in and out of her new treatment center. Since Tom and Yuri both needed to be at school and Sara needed someone with her, Lee had called out of work sick. It wasn't really lying. He was missing work for an illness, just not _his_ illness.

He'd brought Sara over to his place, making her a bed on the sofa just like the one at her house. Sarah had insisted that if he was going to stay with her, they would come here so that he could comfortably and conveniently do his homework. He didn't want to do his homework. He wanted to watch over her and try to make her feel better.

Unfortunately, he was rapidly learning there was no such thing. No matter how he might hope to help, she would still be tired and she would still throw up. She kept telling him that having him there _did_ make her feel better, but he didn't know how. He just knew that as long as she said it, he'd keep doing it.

"Thank you," she whispered as he guided her onto the sofa.

"No problem," he said as cheerfully as he could. "Can I get you anything?"

"No," she said immediately. "I'm fine."

She'd just been throwing up, and if nothing else she needed a glass of water. He turned to get it from the kitchen and found that Finn was there.

"I didn't even know you were home," he said in surprise.

"Mmm-hmm," was Finn's only answer. "Caleb's here, too."

"Oh, I didn't know he was back already. You guys are being really, um, quiet."

"We thought Sara might be embarrassed to have us around," Finn murmured, his eyes on the sick girl on the sofa. He held out a glass of cold water and a box of Saltines. "Here. If she's doing better later, I'll make dinner."

Sara lifted herself up as Lee took the glass and box from Finn. "Oh. Finn. Hello."

"Hi, Sara!" he said cheerfully.

She blushed at that, and hid her face in her hands. "I'm sorry for intruding," she said from behind that frail barrier.

"You're always welcome here, princess," Finn said indulgently, leaning against the counter and smiling at her with confidence, showing he meant it.

"I'm not a princess right now," she muttered. "Princesses are supposed to be graceful and pretty, not puking in other people's bathrooms."

Finn crossed the distance between them with only a few strides of his long legs. He knelt down in front of her and bowed his head, taking the most dramatic path possible.

"Take the word of your loyal knight," he said solemnly, taking her hand and making her giggle even through her embarrassment. "Your grace and beauty are not dependent on your circumstances."

"Stop it, Finn," she giggled, trying to hide her face again.

"Yeah, Finn," Lee said lazily, finally setting the water down beside Sara. "That's my line, anyway."

Sara looked up with startlement, just in time to see Lee join Finn on one knee. "Your servant, my lady."

"You guys . . ." she said weakly.

"Are idiots," finished another voice, and all of them looked up to see Caleb leaning on the corner wall shared by the kitchen and hallway. He was smirking, though, like he was trying not to smile. "How's she going to believe you if you're acting like idiots?"

"Oh? You're not going to swear to be one of her knights?" Finn asked almost sweetly.

Caleb crossed his arms and looked deeply pensive at that. "I'm here, aren't I?" he said eventually. Finn got up after dropping a kiss onto Sara's hand, leaving her to Lee's care, and went over to stand by Caleb in the hallway and watch the two teenagers.

Lee was sitting beside her, turning on the t.v. and finding a show she liked, opening the crackers. He retrieved the book they were reading for English and started reading aloud to her.

"They are just so _adorable_," Finn murmured.

Caleb grunted, which could have been complete agreement and could have meant he had indigestion. It was hard to tell with him, sometimes.

"You had a real problem with that knighthood thing, didn't you?"

"I've already made a vow like that," Caleb said after a moment. "Don't know if it would be right to make another one to someone else."

"Tanya?"

Caleb said nothing.

"Is that how it is for you, then? That's why you couldn't tell me if she was your friend , or your girlfriend, or what she was. Because calling someone your princess is something you didn't think anyone would understand. But I think it's sweet. Maybe every girl should have someone like you to protect them. Right?"

Caleb was still silent.

"I feel like I'm just talking to myself, sometimes," Finn laughed.

"Didn't you just do the same thing with her?"

"I was just joking around," Finn shrugged.

"No, you weren't. You want to be joking, because you don't want to get close to anyone, but you care about her. You care about both of them, and you want to help them. You can lie with that big fake smile of yours, but I'm not an idiot and I know better. So just stop."

The two kids had been sitting with their heads bent together, murmuring about their studies, but Lee sat upright suddenly.

"Hey! Sara's hungry! She wants dinner!"

"Lee . . ." Sara nearly whispered, embarrassed again.

But Finn was already flying into action, goaded on by the grin of joy on Lee's face. He couldn't avoid Caleb forever, of course. But he couldn't face what Caleb wanted of him, not right now. So he would play the role of Finn the Mommy and annoy Caleb into leaving him alone for a while.

"She thinks she could eat a sandwich!" Lee continued cheerfully.

"Okay!" Finn said, pulling out basically everything in the kitchen that could conceivably belong between two slices of bread, not to mention a few that didn't. Caleb's eyes were burning a hole into his back, but then he was right there alongside him, helping with food preparation. Finn's psychological problems could wait while they took care of their modern-day princess.

There ended up being an entire plate full of sandwiches (Lee and Caleb could both consume three in one go if they were particularly hungry) and a note stuck to the fridge with a magnet to remind Finn to get more bread from the grocery store. All three guys, without a word to one another, took a place on the living room floor near Sara so they could keep an eye on her and make sure she ate enough. Sara even slid down to the floor to sit with them, she and Lee side by side with their backs against the sofa.

They were able to remain upbeat for a while, ribbing one another and making Sara laugh, with Caleb growling out complaints about every single one of his teammates' performance during their practice and everyone teasing him about it. Then Finn threw a crust of bread at Lee, because he'd forgotten that he was on Lee's blind side. It bounced harmlessly off his shoulder, and Lee turned to look at it with surprise. Finn opened his mouth to apologize, but Lee was grinning and throwing the crust hard right into Finn's face.

"Sor— Hey!" Finn batted it aside before it could hit him. "I was _going_ to say I was sorry, but I don't think I am," he pouted.

"If you're sorry about throwing bread, then why are you throwing it?" Lee asked, sounding bewildered as he took a bite of his second sandwich.

"You're vaccumming this crap up, by the way," Caleb announced, giving Finn a glare. "I'm not doing it."

"I was trying to apologize because I forgot I was sitting on your bad side," Finn huffed. "But now I just want to throw stuff at Papa Bear," he added more casually, and lobbed the poor abused crust at the disgruntled Caleb.

"Don't CALL me that!" he snarled, knocking the bread out of the air. His eyes landed on a baseball that had somehow rolled itself under the armchair, and he snatched it up and threw it at Finn, clearly ready to escalate the war. Finn's hand flashed up and caught it without even really looking. Caleb blinked in surprise.

Finn was quietly setting the ball down and looking at Lee, whose face had lost some of its light the minute he'd mentioned the blind eye.

"Hey, Lee?"

"Yeah?"

"What happened to you guys?"

"What?"

"You and Averil. You guys both have a bad eye, right? I mean, that's not usually a 'twin' sort of thing . . . unless you were born that way or something?"

Sara took Lee's hand when she saw that he was quietly considering his answer. She seemed to already know the explanation, and she was encouraging him whether he chose to share it with his roommates or not.

"It's . . . I feel bad telling you without asking Averil, but . . ."

"Then don't, if you don't want to," Caleb said plainly.

"No, it's okay, I guess. Um, it happened to me first. It was just an accident. I was climbing a tree, and I went too high. One of the branches wouldn't support my weight that high up, and it broke. I fell out of the tree. I was pretty scratched up, so they never could tell if my eye actually got hit with a branch or if I just hit my head too hard. But it was damage to the retinal nerve. I don't know all the medical explanation, because I was really young and I don't remember what they were saying to my parents. Anyway, the result is, I'm blind in my right eye."

"But Averil . . .?"

Lee looked down at his lap, the second sandwich completely forgotten. Sara squeezed his hand.

"Averil was really upset. He hated that I got hurt, and that he hadn't been there. And . . . Well . . . It wasn't just that I got hurt, this was at a time that his looks really bothered him. You guys might not know this—I thought he'd sort of gotten over it recently—but he used to really hate that he and I don't look alike. Because I look so much like Mom and Dad, and he doesn't. You know, he once accused Mom and Dad of lying about us being twins, asked if he was adopted. It was really upsetting to him that he didn't look like me—even though he _does_, if you go past our hair and eyes we do have some similar features—but anyway, the point is how upset he was. I had this injury that was going to make us look even _less_ alike."

Finn had drawn his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, as if by curling himself up he could avoid hearing the rest of this painful explanation. His face was stricken. Caleb's face gave nothing away, but he was particularly grave. They could guess what came next.

"So he snuck outside, and he . . . He used a stick—it was one of the branches that broke off the tree when I fell, even— So he just _stabbed_ himself. With a stick. In the eye." Lee had let go of Sara's hand so that he could clench his fists until his knuckles were white. Caleb's sharp eye caught a drop of blood oozing out under his fingers, from cutting his palm with his fingernails. "He— He just wanted— Mom and Dad made him go to therapy for a while, after that. I mean, no shit he needed therapy, right?" Lee let out a shaky little laugh. "After a few weeks of therapy, he said he regretted what he did, but I'm not sure he really did." He finally looked up at them with a sickly smile. "It sounds more like something _I'd_ do for _him_, doesn't it?"

"Well, since that's probably the moment you started being so over-protective of him, it makes sense," Caleb said.

"I mean, I always— oh," Lee said in surprise, looking at Caleb with wide eyes. "Oh." He gaped into space for a moment. "You're right. I think. Yeah, you're right, that's exactly when I . . . Hey, how do you _do_ that?"

Caleb just shrugged, and Finn leaned over to poke him teasingly in the ribs.

"Cal's just a big ball of fluff under all the muscle," he crooned. "You have to be in touch with your feminine side when you're raised by women, right?"

Caleb's first slammed down on the arm Finn was using to poke him. "If you ever met Amy or Susan you wouldn't think they were in touch with their feminine side," he growled. "The only side Susan's in touch with is her competitive side."

"Who's Susan?" Finn asked in surprise.

Caleb's face reddened. "Nobody."

"Really?" Finn drawled. "Susan Nobody. Is _she_ your girlfriend then, since Tanya wasn't really?"

"NO!" Caleb cried. He was too horrified by that to maintain his silence on the subject. "No! Susan is _Amy's_ girlfriend, not mine! Urgh!"

"Cal, you surprise me more every day," Finn said in delight. "I didn't know you were raised by a homosexual couple."

Caleb's face went even more red. "I was _raised_ by my _parents_," he said in a harsh voice. "Then I lived with Susan and Amy and Tanya and _I_ looked after _them_ as much as anything. And I don't know what's so surprising about Susan and Amy anyway. Who cares?"

"Just interesting that they were given custody of you, that's all," Finn shrugged. "I know it's difficult for single people to be approved guardians, must be a nightmare for a lesbian couple."

"I wouldn't know," Caleb shrugged. "Susan and Amy are both lawyers, they figured it out." He dismissed the whole thing with an irritated shrug of his shoulders. "Anyway, we were talking about Lee."

Lee put his hands up in a gesture of defense. "No, we can be done talking about me. I hate talking about that."

Sara's hand ran over his shoulder sympathetically. "It's okay, Lee. It was a long time ago, and it wasn't your fault."

Lee sighed gustily, then turned to Sara with a forced smile. "You're right. Thanks." His hand rose up and stroked through her hair for a moment. Then he froze, wide eyed, his hand still on the back of her head. His face paled, and so did Sara's. Lee sat there unmoving while Sara's eyes began to fill with tears.

"Oh, no," she whispered.

"What?" Caleb asked, tensing up.

Finn let go of his legs and rose to a crouch. "What's wrong?"

Lee slowly drew his hand away from Sara's head, his fingers clawed with tension. Shining strands of something auburn-shaded clung to his hand in a small clump. Finn bit his lip and Caleb made a grunting noise like he'd been hit in the stomach. Sara took Lee by the wrist and brought his hand down so she could see it. Her lips trembled as she slowly, almost hypnotically, reached her own hand up and ran it through her hair. More delicate auburn threads came loose in her fingers.

"My hair is falling out," she said numbly.

Lee turned and put his arms around her immediately. "It's going to be okay, Sara," he said automatically.

"My hair," she whimpered. She put her face down on his shoulder and started crying. "I don't want this, Lee, I don't want to lose my hair."

His hands stroked over her thin shoulder blades while Finn and Caleb looked at one another uneasily and wondered if they should leave. "Shh. I know. I know you don't. I'm so sorry, Sara."

"I don't want to be bald," she wept. "I hate being sick."

"I know. But it's going to be all right. This is just for a little while. It's going to pass. In a few months, when you're well again, everything will get back to normal. Shh. It's going to be okay. Sara, you're still going to be beautiful. No matter what."

Lee kept that up for a few minutes while she sobbed out her bitterness over this new development in her illness. Finn and Caleb very quietly got up and cleared up the mess from their meal, the food that hadn't been eaten yet going directly into the garbage. It seemed wrong to leave, as if they didn't care, but it seemed wrong to sit there and watch Sara cry in Lee's arms, as well—so cleaning up was their compromise.

Finn tiptoed into the bathroom, leaving the last of the cleanup to Caleb. He returned after only a moment with an armload of things that he carried into the living room. Sara had stopped crying by now and was simply resting miserably in Lee's arms. Finn handed over the tissue so she could blow her nose, which she took silently, not looking at him.

When he handed over the damp washcloth for her face, she did look up. "Thank you," she whispered, and he tried not to wince at her reddened eyes. She simply laid the cloth over her face for a few moments, then patted her cheeks with it to remove the streaks of salt.

"Help her up for a minute, Lee," Finn said quietly.

Confused, the two teenagers stood up together, Lee supporting most of Sara's weight. Finn spread a spare bedsheet over the sofa and the floor immediately around it.

"Okay, Sara, have a seat," he said, still quiet. She did, and Finn sat down behind her. His last item was a hairbrush, which he began to use on her as gently as possible. She leaned forward, startled, and tried to protest.

"Finn, don't, you don't need to—"

"Hush, princess," he said softly, pulling her back toward him with a hand on her shoulder. "You expect Mommy to just watch you cry and do nothing to help?"

She acquiesced then, sitting still while Finn carefully brushed away all the hair that had come loose. Lee sat in the armchair with grim silence while Caleb tried to stay out of the way by working on a class assignment at their little dining table. It took a long time, because Finn was moving rhythmically and slowly to keep her calm as he worked. Little bits of hair came out with each stroke, and he would periodically pause to scrape a bit from the brush. The sheet became covered with beautiful shining strands that made Lee hunch over to hide the tears that he'd been holding back.

Strangely, the more upset Lee got, the better Sara seemed to be burying her own feelings. She started to chatter with Finn, even laugh. She was trying to show Lee that she was strong enough for this, that it wasn't killing her yet. That he didn't need to start crying yet.

"Hey, Sara," Finn said in a sudden way, like something had just occurred to him. "Do you want a popsicle? I have Otter Pops."

"You would," she laughed, but she looked eager. Lee jumped up and got one for her, and blinked at how rapidly she consumed it.

"Everything tastes funny lately, but that tasted perfect," she explained with a blush.

Lee got her another one. Then a third and fourth Otter Pop. They were all thrilled to find something Sara was so willing to consume, especially since it would help keep her hydrated as well. Even Caleb had to admit that Finn's bursts of randomness at the grocery store could be a good thing.

Finn was still working quietly on her hair when a knock came at the door. Lee jumped up to answer it while Sara went stiff as a board in front of Finn. The only person who would be knocking was Tom or Yuri, and while Sara would have gladly run like a rabbit to hide herself so her family couldn't see what was happening to her head, Finn was holding her in place with firm hands. Tom and Yuri didn't deserve to have Sara hide from them.

The two men entered, and paused in surprise at the sight of Finn and Sara on the sofa. Sara was flushed with shame, her head hanging and her eyes spilling over with tears again, while Finn was running his hands comfortingly over her arms, ready to grab her if she tried to run.

"Sara," Tom choked out, restrained by a simple, light touch from Yuri.

Her hair had come out in large chunks and left her partially bald, the white skin showing in glaringly obvious patches interspersed with what remained of her beautiful hair. A few locks were still clinging stubbornly, but they wouldn't last long.

"It's awful, isn't it?" Sara whispered. "I look awful."

Finn had to move back when Tom lunged across the room to pick his sister up and hold her close.

"It's okay, little monster," he muttered. "You're going to be okay."

"Don't call me that," she said automatically, but she was leaning into his embrace.

"What else would I call you?" Tom asked her, his voice full of affection that held back his grief. He very tentatively reached up his hand to touch a bare spot on her scalp. She stiffened, but didn't jump back. He continued to hold her and simply left his hand there, fingers tentatively feeling at the strange sensation of skin where something else ought to be.

"I'm sorry," Sara said.

"What? Why are you sorry?"

"I'm so much trouble to all of you right now," she said miserably, hiding her face in her brother's strong arms.

"You're my baby sister," Tom said in a teasing voice. "You're supposed to be trouble."

Sara's response was to start crying again. She was too depressed to respond to the teasing and too weak to do anything else. Yuri slipped up and put his arms around Sara, too, so that she was sandwiched between the two men. The intimacy of the gesture was abnormal for them and would never have occurred under other circumstances, but today it was right.

"It's not trouble to show your support to someone you love," Yuri said.

"Exactly," Tom added, grateful as always that Yuri was capable of articulating what he wasn't.

"Don't you know how far we'd go for you?" Lee said, and then cringed, embarrassed that he'd accidentally spoken out loud.

Sara pushed her way out of the embrace at that remark, causing Tom to give Lee a nearly terrifying glare. Sara put her hands on her hips, her tears incongruous against the stern look she was giving all of them.

"Don't any of you dare shave your heads," she said.

"Huh?" was Tom's response.

"One of the nurses told me that sometimes families cut off their hair to show their support to the sick person. I don't want you guys to do that."

"Okay . . ." Yuri said, sounding bewildered but agreeable.

It was Lee she was looking at in particular. "Lee?"

He was blushing. "I was still thinking about it . . ." he mumbled.

"Well, don't. I like all of you with your hair on. And I just know that if Lee does it, then Finn will think he has to do it, and I'm _sure_ it's against the law to damage Finn's beautiful hair. And Tom, you would just look weird if you were bald. So all of you have to promise."

She fixed them each with a look until they gave their word, even Caleb having to grunt out his assent. With that, Sara seemed to reach the end of her strength. She still had her hands on her hips, but her gaze was fixed on nothing but empty air. She tried to turn around, but she was shuffling her feet.

"Tom?" she said, in the same tone she'd use to ask about something curious.

She started to fall, but Lee jumped forward and caught her. She looked exhausted, her cheeks stretched thin, and she let Lee pass her over to Tom without a word.

"I'll take you home, now," Tom said decisively.

"No, I have to help clean up," she said, taking a step toward the sheet covered in her hair.

"NO!" all five guys shouted at her.

Tom picked her up in his arms like a baby. "No way, monster. You're going home and going to sleep."

Totally embarrassed, she didn't protest, although her blush did return some colour to her pale face.

"Thanks," she said with a darting, shame-faced glance at Lee, Caleb, and Finn. "I'm sorry for all of this."

Finn made a noise of consternation. "Yuri, explain to her that thing about how she's not trouble again."

Lee fixed her with a brief, burning look and said nothing aloud. Sara almost smiled. Then she let Tom take her home, so she could rest. There was plenty more chemotherapy still to come, and this wouldn't be the last time she tried to apologize.

"Hey, Tom?" she asked after he had deposited her in bed. "Next time you go to the store, will you get popsicles?"

Which was when it was proven to her just how worried and desperate her brother was. He made Yuri go back out to get her some while he was fussing with her. She tried not to feel guilty and told herself she'd do him a million favours when she was well again. She couldn't wait to be well again.

* * *

_My roommate had some kind of undiagnosed problem that was giving her chronic nausea, and she is the one who turned me on to Otter Pops as a solution. Having had a bout of nausea recently, I can attest that they do, in fact, help. But not the banana-flavoured ones. Those ones are gross. A bit of research confirmed that juice bars/popsicles are actually highly recommended for chemo patients for whom the nausea/vomiting is severe._

_Also, I wanted to apologize if anyone was offended by how quickly I skipped over the topic of Amy and Susan (who, as you might guess, are Amaterasu and Souma). I wasn't trying to be flippant about homosexual parenting. It's just that this chapter was not the right time to delve into Caleb's past, and Caleb's not really the sort of person who'd made a big deal out of it._

_Finally, virtual cookies are not good enough for Ninth Feather, my ONLY reviewer for the previous chapter. So virtual pecan spice cupcakes for you, dear!_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

_February 11__th_

If he had to pick one thing that he liked about his new life, above any other . . .

No, that was impossible.

There wasn't just one thing. It was everything, all of it together, that made his life as bearable as it was. He enjoyed his studies, of course, but he'd already been studying before. It was the apartment he lived in. It was the disorganization and the constant movement and craziness that made it feel so full of life. He loved that feeling. But it was mostly the occupants, he had to admit. He had so much fun with them, and he'd never expected to be able to do that.

And at that thought, he felt his mouth go dry and his heartbeat quicken.

He could lose what he had, so easily. All it would take would be one wrong word, and it would all be over. He knew it couldn't last forever, but he wasn't ready to lose it, yet.

Now there was someone who could ruin all that for him. So he was breaking the rules he'd lived by for eight years. He had to go talk to her, and make sure she understood. She had to suspect that he was the person mentioned in the essay, and one little slip of her tongue could bring the whole thing crashing down around him. He knew it would happen, one day.

But not yet. Just a little longer. Just another day, as he told himself every day.

He refused to allow his mind to picture the one person that he would miss most, the one it wanted to think of, and forced himself to picture the whole group. He allowed himself a moment to think about how bad it would hurt, when he lost them. Even the girl who worked in the office was part of the appeal. Molly was such a sweetheart, and anytime she saw him in passing she asked if he was happy. Not how he was doing. If he was happy. It seemed to be a fairly standard question from her, and he had to lie through his teeth most of the time, but he appreciated it all the same.

He had to be at work in only half an hour, and he would almost definitely be late, but this was important. They loved him at work, his job wouldn't be much at risk. He had to do this.

He had reached the point where nearly a whole day could go by without his being consciously afraid, and now it had been taken away from him. He had to get it back. He didn't know what he would do, though. Would he threaten? Plead? He wasn't sure, wouldn't be sure until he saw her and spoke to her. Good thing he was able to think on his feet.

He realized he'd reached the front doors, and looked up.

"Wow!" he exclaimed aloud. "Lee's so brave! I couldn't go in here every day."

He got a couple of curious looks from exiting students, but he hardly noticed, since he was tilting his head back as far as he could to see the towering edifice above him. The entrance into Abraham Lincoln High was far more imposing than a school had the right to be, with its sheer height and the imposing row of glass doors that were like an open maw ready to devour the hapless.

Of course, it could be that he just wasn't looking forward to the conversation he was here to have.

He walked inside and down the hall, trying to look like he owned the place. It seemed to work, since no one stopped him. A disconcerting number of teenage girls checked out his ass and did the flirty hair flip as he passed, though. He generally didn't think about himself in terms of his level of attractiveness, and he disliked their attention. It made him feel like a creep, because they were so very _young_.

But he needed one of them. He gave it a real effort, sauntering forward with fluid hips. He raked his fingers through his always-messy hair as he approached the girl he'd singled out, and turned up the wattage on his "charming" smile.

"English classroom? The one the substitute is using?"

"That way," she said, exchanging overly-significant glances with her girlfriends and giggling for no reason at all. "You want me to show you the way?"

Ah, he'd been wondering where he'd find the line so he could avoid crossing it. "No, thanks," he said, still grinning like an idiot. "That way?" He pointed his finger lazily in the direction she'd indicated.

"Yeah." Her almond eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled, and her fingers slid through her silky black hair, and he almost felt sorry for her, putting out all that effort for someone who'd never appreciate it.

"Thanks, sweetie."

There was a round of giggling as he walked away. They had that irritating but highly useful habit of believing that turning one's back meant one was out of earshot.

"God, he's gorgeous."

"Don't even think about it."

"Why not?"

"We've talked about this. He's too good to be true, and that means he's gay."

"It does not!"

"He called you sweetie."

He laughed aloud as he navigated his way to the classroom he was looking for. People had been speculating about him for years, and he enjoyed being a mystery too much to answer the question. He peeked in, and then immediately pulled back, feeling slightly sick. There she was. The person who could ruin things before he had the chance to ruin them himself. The bitch of it was, he didn't know her that well. He didn't know what would work.

He arranged himself so that he was leaning casually, almost seductively in the doorjamb, and waited until she flipped aside the paper she'd been grading and started reaching for the next one.

"Hello, Claire."

She looked up with a squeak of surprise. For a moment, she just stared at him, but then she smiled warmly. "I knew it had to be you."

"How?" he asked suspiciously. "I looked at the essay. I hadn't realized I'd changed so much since high school." A big, fat lie, of course. He'd changed on purpose. It was the first of many lies he planned to tell.

She shrugged as she stood up from the desk. "You always drank rum unless there was something better. And you went on that obsessive study binge about the Druids once, when you got tired of studying for the AP exam in chemistry."

"That's quite a memory," he laughed. Or more like weakly chuckled. God, she had a mind like a steel trap, didn't she?

"Besides, you're the only person I've ever met named Finn."

"Good point," he grinned, and very nearly sashayed into the room. "How have you been?"

"Very well!" she said enthusiastically. "I met a really great guy, we've been together for several years."

"So I heard," Finn smiled. "I heard he was helping us look for Averil, I was impressed that you found such a _nice_ guy."

"He is nice," she agreed. "Lee told me, by the way, that you figured out where Averil is." She frowned in concern. "I know that it's really Lee and Averil's decision, but I sort of wish I could go over to the other school and find him and talk to him . . ." She gave him that sweet, almost childish smile she was capable of. "Fixing other people's problems. Matt's rubbing off on me, I guess."

"After we worried about him so much, I'd like to go over there and shake him to death," Finn shrugged. "But it's up to Lee. Thanks for being so nice to him. He raves about you." He shook his head at her playfully. "I never thought you'd become a teacher," he teased. "It absolutely doesn't suit you."

"I can tell you're joking, but I'm not becoming a teacher anyway. I'm actually studying to be a licensed therapist, I'm just teaching right now to save up some more tuition money."

"Therapist?" he queried.

"Sex counseling," she grinned.

He nearly choked, but he burst out laughing. "God, that's just like you. It's perfect."

"And _what_," she said, teasing right back, "are _you_ still doing in school, Mr. Fly-through-college-and-do-research-and-development-for-a-top-pharmaceutical-company? A history degree?"

And just like that, it stopped being an almost pleasant chat with an old friend. "There's a reason I'm here." It sounded awfully harsh after their friendly beginning, but he didn't let his inward wince show on his face.

"I thought there was. If you just wanted to catch up with me, you could get in touch with me through your roommmate. I met him, by the way. Not a really chatty guy, is he?"

Finn almost laughed at that. Almost. Now was not the time. "Claire. He's part of the reason I'm here."

"Oh?" "None of them know about me."

"Know what about you, Finn?"

"Anything," he replied. "As far as my roommates are concerned, I sprang up out of a hole in the ground last year. And I like it that way. Do you understand?"

"Not really."

"It's not that they don't know much about my past. It's that for all they know, I don't _have_ a past. I was grown in a test tube. You're the only person who could mess that up. I don't want you mentioning me to Lee, okay? Or Caleb, _especially_ not Caleb. Pretend you don't know me. Whatever you do, don't tell them what you know about me."

Claire was deeply confused, and obviously hurt. "Finn, what do I even know about you? You were a pretty serious guy who liked chemistry and was desperate to please his foster father. I mean, something _must_ have happened. Two weeks before graduation, you show up at school looking bruised all to hell, and the next day you were _gone_. You and your brother just disappeared."

He tried not to hear those two words—tried to hide how "your" and "brother," when said together, made him feel like he was getting stabbed to death.

"Lee didn't even _mention_ him in that essay, so I've been worried—"

"They don't know about him," he rasped past a strange constriction in his throat. Not too good a job of hiding it, then. "Claire. They don't know anything. Even what you know is too much. I told you. Test tube. That means no family, no history, nothing."

"But _why_, Finn? No one knows where you are. He even called me—"

Finn hid his shudder of fear. So he'd gone looking for Finn, after all. "I'm not going to explain. Get used to that. Just . . . Don't say anything. I don't want to threaten you, Claire, but I will."

She crossed her arms and glared at him. "Good god, Finn. Okay. I won't say anything."

He gave her a doubtful look.

"I promise, if that makes you feel better."

Finn let out a deep breath. "Okay. Thank you." That constriction was back. Just one more day . . .

"Finn, can't you at least tell me why you don't want them to know?"

"They're good people," he said. "I'm not. If they knew that, I'd . . ." _Lose them_. But he couldn't tell her that. He didn't want her to think he cared that much.

He started to run away.

"Finn."

He almost chose to pretend he didn't hear, but he looked back over his shoulder.

"You two were so kind to me when my sister died, the only ones who could understand what it was like for me. If something's happened to you and your brother, I want to be able to return the favour."

"You really are as nice as I remember!" he chirped at her, and ran for it.

And as he walked away, with yet another bridge burned behind himself, he wondered. Why did he care? Wasn't he the type of guy who was eager to die? Wasn't he the type of guy who'd laugh at the idea of parachute failure when skydiving or drowning on a rafting trip? Not that he ever did anything that fun. But he'd careened through these last few years as recklessly as possible, and that hadn't really changed. He drank too much and slept too little, and it was almost like he was hoping that would kill him somehow.

He hated being alive, but he had his reasons for being alive. An accident of some kind would solve everything, for him. End all this without increasing the burden of guilt**. **But—

What about now? Did he still think that?

Yes. Yes, he did. Death would be the easiest thing in the world. No more guilt, and no more fear. It would all be over. He had his reasons for being alive, but so long as he couldn't be blamed for his death . . .

He cared about them, but that didn't mean it changed anything.

What if, one day, it did? What if he cared so much it _did_ change things?

"Not gonna happen," he mumbled as he pushed out of the imposing doors. "Can't."

* * *

_February 15__th_

Caleb noticed that Finn was quiet, the last day or two. Lee was, too, but Lee had the excuse of dealing with Sara's chemotherapy and fretting night and day about Averil. Finn had just suddenly started acting quiet when he thought no one was looking.

Of course, if he thought someone _was_—

"W-o-o-o, Big Daddy is so distracted today!" that voice crooned, and Caleb winced. He'd started hating that voice more and more lately. Because it was the fake one. He knew there was a real Finn, he'd even seen it once or twice. And so it grated on him worse each time he was subjected to the act.

"Are you okay, Caleb?" Molly asked him, quite clearly restraining herself from leaping over her desk to hug him. She was way too touchy-feely with her residents, although he was apparently the only one who didn't _want_ Molly to hug him. She and Finn got along, great, of course, the idiot would just about let her crawl into his shirt to snuggle him.

"Fine," he grunted. "Can I sign it yet?"

"We were talking about whether or not to keep Ril on the lease," Finn said, giving him a sharp look of disappointment.

Caleb looked at the kid and found Lee giving him a brave smile, like he didn't care that Caleb had lost track of the conversation at such a painful moment.

"Of course he's still on the fucking lease," Caleb said, trying to keep it from sounding as much like an embarrassed growl as it was. "Why are we even talking about that?"

The kid usually kept his emotions pretty well under wraps unless they were about Sara, so he just nodded and turned back to Molly. Caleb couldn't help looking quickly at the dumbass, though. Finn had just lit up like a Christmas tree and appeared to think Caleb was his hero. He was an over-actor, but at least this seemed to be sincere.

"Okay!" Molly said in her always-perky voice. "Everybody just put your initials on each of these lines, and then sign the last page."

Caleb looked down the page with suspicion.

"It's the same thing as last year," Lee said.

Caleb scowled. "Does it come with a warning about useless roommates this time?"

Finn gave him a pouting look. "Don't be so mean to Lee."

"I meant you, dumbass!" Caleb snarled, taking a swing at him. Finn was swift to dodge and throw up an arm to block, convincing him more than ever that Finn had some kind of martial arts training. Not that he was going to ask. He wouldn't get a straight answer, for one thing, plus it would kind of undermine his constant assertions that the residents of his apartment could leave their past at the door.

"Don't be mean to Finn!" Molly said with a pout. "He made me cheesecake."

Caleb decided to go back to his usual repertoire of quiet glowering and unintelligible grunting. It generally worked out better for him to keep silent and let Finn and Molly chatter. It was just noise, mostly, although in Molly's case it was kind-hearted noise. He put his name on the indicated lines, and just like that, their home belonged to them for another six months. He'd decided six months made sense and forced the other two to agree with him on that point. It would last until summer, and if somebody decided to drop out of school and move to Peru or something, it could wait until the end of the semester.

Finn was the last one to sign, and Caleb saw the moment that he hesitated. He was holding his pen over the page to make it look like he was signing while Lee was talking to Molly. But he wasn't actually touching the page, and Caleb noticed. What was that dumbass doing? He couldn't possibly still be unsure, not when he was already here to sign.

But the weird quiet of the last couple days suddenly made sense.

He had been thinking about whether or not he was going to stay. Finn was always cagey, even at the best of times, but Caleb was still sort of surprised to realize that Finn must have been considering disappearing on them. Or maybe he'd lost his job and didn't want to tell them that he couldn't afford rent anymore or something. Hell, who knew? All Caleb cared about was what had already been said.

He leaned over and grabbed Finn's arm. "We already talked about this," he said in his most menacing voice. "Lee and Sara care about you too much." He made sure Finn's startled eyes were looking at him. "And you care about them."

Lee and Molly were now very curious, but Caleb ignored the odd looks and held Finn's arm in a vice grip until that pen touched paper and Finn's initials started to appear on the lease. He finally let go and Finn looked up from his scrawling to grin at Molly.

"Now you're stuck with us!"

"Yay, more cheesecake!" was Molly's answer.

_I accidentally checked myself in to a nuthouse_, Caleb thought. _Meeting Yvonne should have been my first clue_.

Molly insisted on a round of hugs before she'd let them leave, congratulating them on staying. Caleb would have complained to the management, but that consisted entirely of Molly's aunt Yvonne and was thus useless. He'd complained once that Yvonne let her employees dye their hair weird colours—Molly's platinum-blonde was _clearly_ a dye job—but Yvonne had just laughed at that.

Then, of course, there was Finn. When they exited the office, he put an arm around each of them and dragged them toward the main exit off the property instead of letting them go back home.

"We have to celebrate not killing one another yet!" he proclaimed, weaving like a drunk as Lee hunched in terror under one arm and Caleb tried to yank the other arm out of its socket to get away.

"Come on, at least quit dragging the kid around. His girlfriend is getting chemo again today."

"She's not my girlfriend!" Lee (predictably) squawked, while Finn replied,

"He needs to get his mind off things!"

"Don't be an ass, Finn—"

"No, it's okay," Lee said bravely, and Caleb's hopes of getting out of this died. "Finn's right, I could use the distraction."

"Huzzah!" Finn crowed, which was a weird word that Caleb suspected him of making up. "Let's go celebrate!"

He really did want to celebrate, obviously, he wasn't just being obnoxious for its own sake. Because he'd decided to stay?

"You remember I'm not old enough to drink, right?"

"Yes." Finn pouted. "It's so boring." Then he brightened up. "I know! Let's go bowling!"

"Bowling?" Lee asked in a weak voice.

Caleb stopped on the sidewalk and crossed his arms. "No. Hell no. Fucking hell no."

* * *

Caleb sighed with relief at being back in his own boots as they stepped out of the noisy, crowded, dimly lit building into the street. He hated those stupid bowling shoes so much. Like he hated Finn. So much. He honestly didn't know how he went from standing on the sidewalk swearing to tossing a ball at a pile of plastic pins, except that Finn was to blame for it.

They'd both downed a few beers, but Caleb had too much muscle mass for the alcohol to have any effect on him. Finn, being on the slim side, had gone giddy, and was currently skipping down the street making cat-like meowing noises. For whatever reason. Cheering for himself and his almost-perfect score? Caleb suspected he was far more drunk on his own good mood than on the weak-as-shit beer they'd been drinking. He wished he could drink something better, but beer wasn't exactly on the nutrition plan he normally adhered to.

He looked down at Lee, who was watching his feet as he walked and keeping quiet, although he did smile rather fondly as the retarded blond broke into song. Lee had a lot more patience than Caleb, clearly.

"Hey, kid. You doing okay?"

Lee looked up, not trying to put on his courageous face this time. He just looked tired. "Yeah. Little worn out is all."

"Worried about Sara?"

"Yeah. Her days off start tomorrow, though. I'll get to take care of her for a few days."

Like watching that poor kid puke was a privilege for him or something. Caleb wasn't sure what it was Lee found so intoxicating about the girl, but he was making it pretty clear he'd go to the ends of the earth for her.

Caleb took his hand out of his pocket long enough to ruffle Lee's hair. "Then you'd better make sure you get some sleep tonight."

Lee was always staying up late studying for school or researching some random fact about Sara's cancer. She was a pretty girl, Caleb figured, not that she did anything for him personally. A sweet kid, a hard worker when the occasion called for it, but nothing spectacular. Caleb had been wondering if there was something about her that he was missing, then Finn showed him that essay Lee wrote. All that stuff in it about Caleb was bullshit, obviously, but the part about Sara made sense. A kid whose life had been as crazy as Lee's, it made sense that he'd latch on to whatever made him feel at home. And Sara obviously made him feel that way. Caleb wasn't about to ask why, since it was none of his damn business and he didn't care.

She'd impressed him, the past couple of weeks. She'd taken the news about her cancer with a lot more stoicism than he'd expected out of a girl her age. And even though she was really weak right now, she seemed to be keeping her hopes up about getting better. She was stronger than he'd imagined. Remained to be seen just how strong, since it hadn't gotten bad yet.

"Hunh?" Caleb looked up, pulling his hands from his pockets when he heard Finn stop singing abruptly. He'd gotten pretty far ahead, and it looked like there was another person up there with him. There hadn't been anyone walking on the street, so this creep had to have jumped out of some alley. "Come on, kid."

He and Lee hurried to catch up. When they got close enough to see faces, Lee suddenly whispered, "Oh no," and dashed ahead. Caleb followed behind more cautiously. For some reason, he always had to be the smart one. "What are you doing here?" Lee shouted as he approached.

Average height, average build, average everything. Except his smile, which was so sinister that it looked stupid. Caleb immediately hated this guy, whoever he was.

"Taking advantage of this fortuitous meeting," the average person answered.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I need a favour, and you owe it to me."

"I don't owe you anything!" Lee said.

He didn't look like a dumb kid anymore, Caleb realized. He'd taken this strange posture with straight shoulders and he'd put on this very stern face. He looked like someone you should take seriously. It made Caleb fairly certain that Lee was afraid of this guy. He prepared for a fight. He'd let Lee have the first crack at Average Guy, sure, but if Lee couldn't handle the guy—Caleb looked at Finn, saw Finn looking back at him with a grim countenance, and knew that it would be three against one.

"After everything I did for you?" Average Guy simpered. "You assured me that you always paid your debts."

"I _did_ pay you," Lee said. He held his fists loosely at his sides, ready for anything.

"With _money_," Average Guy said dismissively. Then he suddenly smiled at Caleb, and it looked awful. That was not a face that was meant for smiling. "Who are your friends, Lee?"

"No one important," Lee responded.

Finn and Caleb looked at one another again. Yeah, this was bad, all right. Lee had no reason to lie unless he thought this guy could harm them.

"So who the hell are you?" Caleb said, breaking the short silence that had fallen.

"I'm Seth," Average Guy responded.

"Doesn't answer my question, asshole."

"Don't you know what a naughty child Lee is?" he asked with a chuckle that was worse than his smile. God, he must have picked up his attitude from watching cheesy villains in low-budget films. "Don't you know that he's a criminal?"

"Criminal my ass," Caleb responded.

"He's quite a thief."

"_Was_ a thief," Caleb corrected, when it seemed Lee had nothing to say. "And who fucking cares?"

"I taught him everything he knows," Seth said, his smile looking smoother and less retarded this time. Didn't make Caleb like him any better, obviously. "I helped him when he needed it. He owes me, big time."

"You taught me how to shoplift," Lee said, crossing his arms and wearing a very stubborn look. "And I paid you for it. I don't owe you shit."

"Lee, Lee, Lee," Seth laughed. "Don't you know, that kind of favour can't be repaid with money?"

"What is it you want?" Finn spoke up, startling them all after his long silence.

"I need somewhere to hide out for a couple of days, that's all," Seth said, sounding nonchalant. "I've given Lee at least that much, so now it's time he repays me for it. Whatever piece of shit building you're living in, Lee, I'm coming with you."

"That would be a bit of a problem," Finn said delicately. "Since Caleb is such a fine, upstanding citizen, after all."

Seth's eyes flickered over Caleb in derision. "So?"

"Well, since Lee lives with us," Finn gestured to Caleb and himself, "and since Caleb doesn't like criminals . . ."

"You live with these guys?" Seth said, his eyes glinting as he turned to Lee. "I thought you said they weren't important."

"They're my roommates," Lee said, and he seemed to grow suddenly taller. "And they're good people. Leave them alone, Seth. If you have a problem with me, then it stays with me."

Seth placed a dramatic hand over his heart. Caleb fought the urge to chop it off.

"You mean to say . . . All this time you've owed me, and you've actually been in a position to pay it back? You are not the person I thought you were, Lee."

"Fuck you," Lee responded, and sprang forward, presumably to beat on the guy until he shut up. Caleb fully supported the idea, and stood back, ready to jump in if necessary. But Lee pulled up short of Cheesy Movie Villain Seth, looking shocked. He scrambled backward, away from the rest of them.

Seth was holding a gun. "You'd better think twice about that, Lee, old son," he said in a flat voice. All that cheesiness was disappearing with the appearance of the weapon. "I don't really want to have to hurt you. I just want someplace to hide out."

"You're not getting it," Lee said, manfully not letting his voice shake despite how pale he'd become.

"Then I'll kill you."

"And how would that solve anything?" Finn broke in to ask.

Seth barely looked at Finn, his eyes trained where his gun was. Lee's chest. "It wouldn't. But I'd feel a lot better. Shooting people that defy me is good for my ego."

Finn was sidling closer, more fully into the range of Seth's vision. What did the dumbass think he was doing?

"Ah, but that's a problem," he said. "Because I like Lee, and I don't let people shoot the people I like."

Seth risked a look away from Lee to smirk at Finn. "What are you going to do about it? I've got the gun, dumbass."

Hey. That was _Caleb's_ nickname for Finn. He couldn't use Caleb's nickname.

"I can see that," Finn responded. His voice was becoming more remote, his face more austere. He looked less like Finn, more like someone dangerous. He clearly had some kind of plan. "That doesn't mean I care about that."

"You'd be pretty stupid not to care about a gun."

"I have often been accused of stupidity," Finn said. "I don't care about the gun. I care about Lee. He's a brave and hard-working kid who's got a lot of life ahead of him, and he's got someone relying on him. He doesn't deserve to die. So I'm not going to let you kill him."

Seth's eyes were starting to dart nervously around to all three of the people ranged around him. He couldn't afford to take his focus off Lee, lest Lee dodge out of the gun's trajectory, but he couldn't completely ignore Finn or Caleb, either. Caleb wanted Finn to back up. Edgy gunmen were trigger-happy gunmen. He tried to meet Finn's eyes, warn him, but Finn wasn't looking at him. He was looking at Lee.

"Sara needs him," he said quietly. Caleb wasn't sure who he was talking to. "And he's such a good kid."

Seth's eyes flicked to Finn again, even more nervous. "What do you care? If I don't shoot him, I'm gonna shoot you, because you're an annoying bastard."

"Fine," Finn said nonchalantly.

Then Finn _moved_.

Caleb was glad he didn't blink, he'd have missed it. Finn was fucking _fast_. One second he was standing six or seven feet away, the next second he was low to the ground, sweeping his leg out in an arc that caught Seth's ankles and knocked him right on his ass. The only reason the guy didn't smack his head on the pavement was that he managed to get one hand behind him and break part of his fall. Probably sprained, if not broke, his wrist in the process. Caleb was just sorry it wasn't his skull. He couldn't help smirking with satisfaction when Seth screeched in pain.

Finn was already back on his feet, one foot flashing out to kick the gun out of Seth's hand. But Seth was no slouch, apparently. He threw himself flat on his back, Finn's foot whistling over him, and lifted the gun with his uninjured hand, wildly firing off a few shots.

Finn pivoted away, dashed back a few paces, while Lee and Caleb ducked. Seth jumped to his feet, waving the gun back and forth in front of him.

"I'll shoot you all, I will kill you all," he snarled.

"Someone's already called the police for those gunshots," Caleb said warningly. Well, probably not, but on the slight possibility . . .

"Dammit," Seth snarled, and was idiot enough to turn around, as if he'd see the cops coming right then or something. Caleb took immediate advantage of it. He jumped to his feet, feeling an inexplicable rage crawling into his throat—one he thought he'd forgotten he was capable of feeling with how easy-going his life had been, lately. This jackass had pointed a gun at his friends, had tried to shoot them. Caleb didn't even think. He just grabbed hold of the gun with one hand and the guy's arm with the other. He flung him halfway down the street with a roar of pure rage. Man, it felt _good_.

Seth tumbled to a stop, looked at his empty hand, saw the gun in Caleb's hand, and broke into a run. He was smart. He knew to weave back and forth. But Caleb wasn't going to shoot him, anyway. He wasn't the one trying to murder people around here.

For a moment, they all just stood there, watching the fleeing figure in stunned silence. Then Caleb slipped the gun into the waistband of his pants, so he could give it to the cops.

"That," he pronounced, "was fucking insane."

Lee looked at the ground. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Caleb just shrugged. "Not really your fault."

"Caleb's right, Lee," Finn said, when Lee opened his mouth to protest. "It isn't your fault. That guy is crazy, you couldn't have done anything about it."

Lee nodded miserably, but Caleb felt a jolt of sudden fear. Finn sounded weird. Breathless. And what did he mean, Lee couldn't have done anything about _what_?

Finn abruptly turned away from them, and stumbled into the alley that Seth had jumped out from. Stumbled. Finn didn't stumble. Caleb leaped after him.

"Finn?"

Finn was leaning against the wall, both hands clutched into his stomach. His face was white and covered in sweat. The blue of his eyes looked particularly intense because there was a sheen of tears in them.

"Finn? Oh shit, shit, shit."

"What is it?" Lee asked from behind his shoulder, trying to peer around him.

"Seth fucking shot him."

Caleb was dumbfounded. Finn had just jumped away, had kept standing there, hadn't even let on. But his hands were clutched into his gut, and they were gleaming with a shiny substance that was almost black in the twilight. Shot. Finn had been shot. He was bleeding.

"Oh, no, Finn!" Lee squawked, trying to shove his way past Caleb, but Caleb held him back.

"Don't. Just stay back for a minute."

Lee did as he was told. Maybe the sight of Finn's blood was as shocking to him as it was to Caleb. Caleb approached Finn cautiously, since pain did funny things to people and he'd just seen a piece of what Finn was capable of doing. He didn't want a solid kick to the face just because Finn was feeling panicky.

"How bad is it?"

Finn drew his hands back for a moment, and they were coated in that deep red sheen. More blood was staining his shirt, oozing down to stain his pants. "Pretty bad," he said quietly, and placed his hands over the wound again.

For a minute, all Caleb could do was stand there and stare. He was being so calm about it, just leaning against the wall. His words and the amount of blood said it was bad, but he was just standing there and it had Caleb frozen.

Then Finn crumpled forward, and just like that, the hold on Caleb broke. He jumped toward him, caught him, lowered him onto his back on the ground. He batted Finn's hands away so he could take a better look at the gunshot wound, and he realized it was pretty far off to one side, not right into the stomach like he'd feared. But the amount of blood pumping out was goddamn serious. He shoved his own hands over the wound, suddenly very glad they were, as Tanya had jokingly told him, practically the size of dinner plates. He could keep pressure on the wound.

"Lee. Call an ambulance."

"O-o-okay," Lee stammered.

"No," Finn said. He sounded very tired, but very calm.

They both stared at him.

"No?" Lee said, frozen with his hand in his pocket to retrieve his phone.

"Don't call," Finn said.

"What? Why not?" Caleb snarled. "You were just shot."

"I know."

"Finn— You're going to die. You're going to fucking die if you don't get to the hospital."

"Exactly," Finn sighed. He wasn't looking at Caleb, he was looking past him, up into the sky. "So much easier . . ."

"Easier?" Caleb shouted. He wanted to get right in the bastard's face and scream at him, but he was too busy bunching up Finn's shirt and shoving it into the bloody hole in his side, pressing his hands over the whole mess. Was his heart beating really fast, or was he imagining that? "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't really like being alive," Finn whispered, his eyes starting to glaze over. The blood loss, the pain, it was all starting to get to him. "It's so complicated, with all the guilt and being afraid of you guys finding out, and caring too much. And the police will come, and things . . . I want to be dead when you find out about everything. Just easier. I don't mind it. I've been waiting for something like this."

"You can't die," Caleb said, unable to form a coherent argument. "You just signed a lease."

"Sorry about that," he said with a little smile forming. "I'm sure Yvonne will be lenient in this case. You can get another roommate."

He didn't want another roommate.

Wait. What?

He didn't. Want. Another roommate. He . . . wanted Finn to stay. Why else would he get so mad when he thought Finn had considered leaving? There were the kids, of course. They'd be upset. Lee was in tears, right now. Caleb knew Finn had started getting closer to Sara lately. She didn't need to mourn a dead friend when she could barely keep food down right now.

But. There was Caleb's own feelings.

Feelings? Really?

Yes. Feelings. He didn't want Finn to die. He'd lived with him for over a year, and as much as they fought and as annoying at the dumbass got . . . It was sort of nice to have. Caleb didn't get close to people. There was just Tanya. But now there was Finn. The second person he'd ever allowed so close to him. The guy shared his _room_. He never believed a word the liar said, but he trusted him enough to sleep in the same room. That was . . . not something to be let go of, not lightly. Who would fill in that void? There wouldn't be anyone. Finn was too weird for there to be anyone to replace him.

"Lee! Call the fucking ambulance!" Caleb shouted.

Finn frowned at him, looking puzzled. "But I want to die . . ."

"Too bad," Caleb said, his voice barely above a whisper at the sheer rage that went through him when Finn said that. They were on the ground next to a dumpster, it smelled like shit and here was Finn talking about dying and it all just _pissed him off_. He slammed his fist into the dumpster without thinking, and the pain that shot up his arm was godawful and strangely fulfilling. He withdrew his hand to reveal a fist-sized dent in the metal, and that was satisfying, too.

"That's a lot of blood," Finn said, his eyes fixed on Caleb's hand.

Briefly, he raised his hands so they could both see them. Covered in blood. Slick with it.

"Oh, god," Finn suddenly moaned, and closed his eyes. "That's a lot of blood."

"Having second thoughts about dying?" Caleb said, going back to keeping pressure on the wound.

"No."

"Like I said. Too bad. You're not dying until I _say_ you can, you hear me?"

Finn's eyes remained closed. He was totally limp, now. Had he lost consciousness? He must have. His head lolled when Caleb shook him. Caleb took stock of what he felt underneath him. Finn had stopped breathing. Shit. Oh shit. He'd stopped breathing.

"I _said_ you're not dying!" he hollered, and began CPR.

He didn't know how long he kept it up. He just knew he'd never been more glad he took that stupid class. It was one of the many things he'd done when he'd thought he would be staying in his hometown, just a beat cop looking out for Tanya. He hadn't expected to end up here, like this. Not playing baseball and not living in those crazy apartments and he certainly hadn't expected to be kneeling in an alley next to a dumpster feeling terrified that he might lose . . . his best friend?

"I'm not going to let you die," he said, swiping a hand into Finn's mouth to be sure his airway was clear and grimacing in disgust. He put his hands on Finn's chest and shoved downward, rhythmically. "One, two, three," he counted, wincing as Finn's ribs were creaking under his hands. "Not, going, to, let, you, die," he chanted, and felt it when Finn's ribs broke. He grimaced again but kept up his rhythm.

Then the dumbass took a breath, and Caleb jerked in shock. He found one of his hands going to Finn's face, accidentally smearing blood around his mouth, just sort of holding his cheek.

"Keep breathing."

Someone grabbed his arms, tried to pull him away. Caleb shrugged the hands off, but they were insistent. He turned around with a roar of fury and started punching, but Lee caught his hand and was nearly flung into the wall by it. Caleb blinked and realised he'd been about to put the lights out on an EMT.

"Caleb, stop, it's the ambulance, they're here," Lee was shouting

They were putting an oxygen mask over Finn's face, and there was blood everywhere and emergency lights flashing and making everything look gruesome, and someone was saying in a grim voice that he might not make it.

"The police, they're here," Lee was saying, while Caleb's eyes were fixated on the dying blond man they were trying to put on a stretcher.

Caleb turned to the cop, and felt pity for the way he was about to make this guy's life difficult. Still, he'd become a cop on purpose, one presumed. He knew what he was getting himself into. Another cop was right behind him. Caleb decided that between two of them, it wasn't that big a deal, and stopped feeling sorry for them.

"I took the gun away from the guy who shot him," he said, pointing at Finn. "It's in the waistband of my pants. I'm going to take it out and give it to you. I'll put it on the ground and step back from it. Okay?"

They both looked very stern and the younger one put a hand on his own gun, but the older one watched Caleb lower the weapon with his fingers as far from the trigger as possible, and he picked it up carefully while his eyes watched Caleb standing back up.

"You've handled weapons before," he said observantly.

"My dad was a cop. He used to take me shooting sometimes."

"Let's talk about the shooting that occurred tonight."

Caleb's eyes were still on Finn as they strapped him down. "Guy jumped at us out of this alley. He wanted us to give him a place to hide out for a couple of days, but we weren't about to take him home with us. He started waving that gun around saying he would kill the kid, here, for not agreeing to it. Finn tried to disarm him, but he got shot. Then the guy was distracted, so I disarmed him. He ran for it once I had his gun."

"How do you know this person?"

They were putting him in the ambulance. He looked really bad. Was he even going to live long enough to get to the hospital, without Caleb standing over him yelling at him for not breathing?

"I don't know him. But I know he's about six foot, about one-seventy, dark hair, and I think he might be ambidextrous. I know his eyes are two different colours, but it was too dark to tell what colours. His clothes were dark, too. And I know he fucking shot my friend. Goodnight."

Caleb climbed into the ambulance just before they slammed the doors shut, and no one was brave enough to drag him back out. So Lee was left to explain Seth to the police, while his roommates sped away from a scene that was washed in red.

* * *

_**A/N:** You don't know how excited I've been about posting this chapter!_

_First of all, I have uploaded a picture of Lee and Sara's school onto my profile page, so you can see the very imposing doors that Finn was talking about.  
_

_And now . . . some explanation for the loyal Fai fans:_

_Could I have written this in a way that would lead to him losing an eye? Sure, probably. I'm a creative person. But it simply doesn't work for this story. For one thing, modern medicine is awesome, and they might have been able to fix an injury to his eye. For another, if there was no way to fix it, the field of false eyes is wonderfully advanced and he'd have ended up with a fake one that looked remarkably like the real one. There was just no way he was going to end up with an eyepatch, not in this day and age. Sorry. I went with realistic and injured him in a life-threatening way._

_Anyone who is worried that the lack of vampirism will make the situation between Finn and Caleb too different, don't be. I thought long and hard about a way to interpret Kurogane's sacrifice into modern terms. You shall see. Later. I'm going on a bit of a tangent next week and leaving you in the dark about all this. Mwa-ha-ha!  
_

_Also, for those of you wondering about the character of Seth: I have basically made him an amalgam of two characters: Tsubasa!Seishirou and Clone!Syaoran. He looks and behaves rather like Seishirou, but his actions (obviously) are those of the clone during the Tokyo arc. I just really don't want to deal with Seishirou as a character, so he only gets this single appearance and then I don't have to deal with his complicated insanity._

_Since you're probably wondering: no, I have no plans at present to include Kamui, Fuuma, or Subaru as characters. I haven't read very much of X/1999 yet and I couldn't write Kamui or Fuuma's characters at all. And while I did toy with the idea that Subaru could be the detective in charge of finding Seth for them, I thought this story had too many characters already and would suffer from trying to include Yet Another Subplot. So I'll be sticking with the characters I've already introduced._


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

"He's here."

Hands slid over clothing and through hair, checking to be sure it was all where it should be. He already made them look bad, but it was worse if they weren't perfect to start with.

"The usual balcony is free."

"Yeah, I would hope so."

Everyone looked at him when he walked into the place. He expected it. It was his due.

They called him the Prince, of this place and any other club he graced with his presence. It didn't matter what kind of mood he was in and what he was wearing, they'd still worship him—because he always looked perfect, even when he didn't. He was always the Prince, even when he was abusing his subjects.

Today, he looked like pure art. His hair was sort of spiky, making him look rakish and dangerous. His dark eyes, framed by thick, black lashes, were looking particularly stormy. His clothes were simple and casual, but they clung in just the right places to show everyone the corded muscles in his arm, and teased with a brief flash of the taut and tanned skin at his waist when he lifted his hand to greet someone. You could cut diamonds on his cheekbones, and there was just a hint of a shadow at his jawline, like he hadn't _quite_ found the time to shave before coming tonight.

He was just over average height, just shy of being wide-shouldered and just shy of being too good-looking to be human. But it was his intensity that drew people to him like flies to honey. It was the way he moved. He sliced through a crowd like he was parting the Red Sea. He spoke like he expected the entire place to stop and listen. When he sat, the chair became a throne. When he left, the party was over.

His family was made of money, too. That definitely helped.

He hadn't spent a lot of time in this particular club yet. He'd gotten the invite, because everyone who was anyone in the night life knew that where the Prince went, the money followed. He'd spent two weeks making up his mind, leaving everyone wondering if The Factory was worth it. But he'd decided. This was his third visit, and he was well on his way to making it "his" club. He was surrounded by a flock of beautiful people for whom The Factory was their new favourite place. People with money and success and people whose fathers were paying for their college extravagances, just like his daddy was. He could afford to push away beautiful and intelligent women, because he could do better, and they spent their money drowning their woes at the bar.

He was projecting his plan for the night pretty clearly, stopping to greet people and accept drinks from them, but obviously heading for one of the VIP areas. He was here to get so drunk he couldn't find his own ass, then he'd grab whatever girl was nearby to find it for him. He was discontented, lately, and everyone knew it. He'd stopped attending half his classes, these days, although his father was still shelling out money to Yale every semester.

When he was on the dance floor, it was pure sex, but he clearly wasn't in the mood. He went straight to the balcony area that overlooked the dance floor. His entourage trailed behind him, some of them more beautiful and more rich, but none of them with his power and vibrancy. He took a seat, and waited to be worshiped. There were beautiful people all around him, and he watched them indolently as they engaged in things that were illegal to do in public, and sometimes just plain illegal. Two gorgeous blond girls were doing lines of coke off each other's bared thighs. On a balcony just a bit lower and across the dance floor, he could see three people having sex on a black leather thing that resembled furniture. In another balcony area, a group of people had become so drunk they just watched as two of their friends tried their best to kill one another with whatever they could get their hands on. A bouncer—huge but sleek, definitely very professional—arrived just in time to take away a broken bottle from the smaller fighter. They were both escorted away, but not to leave. There was a room in the basement where they could beat one another to a pulp and probably be given discreet first aid.

The Factory paid _somebody_ a lot of money to maintain its existence. Half of the things that went on within its walls disgusted the Prince, but the prestige of being important there could not be ignored.

Then something changed. It was sudden and subtle. He tilted his head to toss back the end of his drink so he could start on a new one. But he held that position just a little too long, and when he picked up the drink that waited for him, his eyes had changed. They were interested in something. They flicked constantly to a metal catwalk above his balcony, and everyone sitting near him relaxed a bit. He'd just found the girl he was going home with. With that problem solved, they could kick back.

Sure enough, he stood up before he'd half-finished the drink, and eventually decided to take it with him. He sauntered up the stairs, waiting for people to see him and get out of his way, as they were wont to do. Even girls who'd like to be chosen for the night had learned to let him come to them, or they risked public humiliation. He had a cruel tongue.

He approached her. She was perfect, in the same way he was. If someone went searching for imperfections, they'd get distracted and never find one. She wore an outfit that was not clothes so much as a visible signal that she was confident and aware and indescribably desirable. She was a brunette, surprisingly. He usually went for something a little less traditional. But she had a lethal combination in her smooth, muscled legs and the graceful way she moved them—a rich girl like her, she had probably danced because it made Daddy happy.

She spoke the way he spoke, like she expected to be listened to. She perfectly balanced flirting with him and making him flirt with her. It was a mating ritual between the two most beautiful specimens of the species, and everyone else had to stop to watch. They saw when things changed. When a small, dark-haired man in a truly impressive suit approached them, displaying an entirely different type of confidence. This wasn't the walk of a man who was gorgeous and knew it. This was the walk of a man who had bodyguards at his disposal, and knew it.

Friends of the Prince, not wanting to get involved with this dangerous character but still wanting to show support to him, started up the stairs but stopped halfway and waited. He came storming down a few moments later, and the buzz starting running through the club**.** He went back to his throne, burning with so much rage that his friends gave him a wide berth, but he looked strangely diminished. He'd been denied something for the first time.

The club owner's daughter, the word came down, reaching all the way to the main dance floor. She, too, went to Yale. The club owner had all the right connections to be a truly frightening person. Maybe even the kind that could make a guy disappear forever. He said the Prince couldn't have his daughter, and his word made it so.

It wasn't sitting well with the thwarted prince. There were others more than willing to be a consolation prize, male and female and even one that no one was too sure about. They all wanted him. But he didn't want them. He'd just been told he couldn't have what he wanted, yet nothing else would do.

He drank some more, then he abruptly stood up, and all eyes turned to him.

"I get what I want," he growled, and he started climbing the stairs to look for the girl. There was a stunned pause. "Anyone coming with me?" he snarled, and a few of his more loyal friends jumped to their feet to follow him. He nearly made it to the catwalk again before something else caught his eyes and he stopped in his tracks. "Now that is just sick."

Everyone was very interested in what would spark such a comment from the guy who didn't blink at the club's other "eccentric" habits. But there was more than one murmur of agreement. A slender and distinguished-looking man with a brush of silver hair at his temples was mounting the stairs, heading for a VIP balcony area, and trailing behind him was another man on a leash. No. Not a man. A kid. A teenager, who wore fitted pants and a piece of black mesh that evoked the idea of a shirt, with the leash attached to a spiked collar around his thin neck. The man looked alert, the teen was heavy-eyed and silent.

He went to the Prince's nearly vacated section and started greeting the people who were still there. He snapped his fingers and the boy crouched on the floor while he exchanged his pleasantries.

"No," the Prince declared. "I'm not gonna have it here. This is my place—" finally his claim had been staked "—and I don't let that kind of shit happen in my club."

"Wait a minute," one of his friends said. "You can't just demand anything, not after the owner—"

"He'll thank me for taking out the trash."

They came back down just in time to see that small and impeccably-suited man greet the new arrival and personally direct him to sit down. His eyes flicked over the collared boy, but all he did was shake his head at the man with a sort of amused exasperation, like he couldn't break his old friend of an incorrigible but harmless habit. There were a few words exchanged, and the owner left.

One of the friends who was close enough to speak directly to the Prince said, "Well, I guess that—"

But he was already gone, already re-entering the area he'd just left, and walking up to the silver-haired guy who was holding the leash loosely while he chatted with one of the Prince's friends. One of the coke-head blondes in fact, and they appeared to be chatting about her dealer.

"Hi," he said as he strode in, eyes boring directly into the newcomer. "Sorry, but my friends are I are using this area right now. We just left to say hello to Angelica."

"Angelica? Al Bolton's daughter?"

"Yeah. She's a friend. Anyway, sorry for the confusion."

Anyone else would have been out of the chair and gone by this point. Not this man.

"But my pet and I have just got settled in. Perhaps we could share the space for a while? Mr. Bolton assured me that I would enjoy his club best from _this_ spot."

He was smoldering now. "Listen—"

"Why don't we introduce ourselves?"

Jaws dropped. Nobody had dared to interrupt him in such a long time, they'd all forgotten that it could happen. This guy would shortly be finding out that no one ever did it twice.

"My name is Castle, Lars Castle." He held out his hand. It was ignored.

"I'm Ian, and I am _not_ sharing this space with _you_."

"My, this must be your regular space for you to be so attached to it, no?" The boy at his feet was beginning to show signs of interest in his surroundings, and had started to watch Ian. Castle put his hand on the boy's head and briefly smoothed his hair. The boy took the hint and dropped his eyes to the floor. "Well trained, isn't he?" Castle said slyly when he saw everyone staring at the kid.

"Look, I think you're sick, and I think you should take your _pet_ and get the fuck out."

Castle smiled. "You think? But you don't _know_, do you?" Ian opened his mouth to roar, and people started ducking for cover. But Castle merely stood up to put his face level with that of the Prince.

"Don't judge what you don't understand. You have no idea of where my pet might have come from, how well I might treat him, and—"

"He's on a _leash_, creep."

"Maybe he likes that."

Ian flicked his eyes down to the boy, who was still crouched down and waiting for an order. "Well? Do you?"

The boy didn't even look up.

"You don't speak to him, you speak to me."

Ian just stared for a moment, then spun around with a look of rage such as they'd never seen on him before. "Fucking sick," he snarled. He looked at his friends, trying to make a decision. This was probably the moment that it occurred to him that making trouble with Lars Castle would destroy his chances with Angelica Bolton forever. None of them ever knew exactly what passed through his mind at that moment, but it froze him in his tracks.

He spun back around, and he smiled, and it was the sort of smooth and diplomatic smile that he usually employed to get back into a professor's good graces after skipping out on an assignment. "You know what? Maybe you're right. Maybe I just need to learn what it's like. We don't have to do this the hard way."

Castle was clearly taken aback, but he only smiled and sank smoothly into his seat again. "I thought you looked like a reasonable man."

"I'm willing to be convinced," Ian said, sitting down and looking amiable. "So let me borrow him."

Castle's smile froze in place. "Excuse me?"

"Not for whatever you use him for," Ian assured him, picking up an abandoned drink and taking a casual swallow of it, clearly not caring whose or what it was. "But it looks sort of . . . Cozy, I guess. Just having him there, just knowing you're his master. I want to see what it's like."

Castle had ceased to smile. "So get one of your own."

"Not ready for the commitment, am I? Just let me borrow him for an hour. Just while we're sitting here, getting to know each other. I'll give him back safe and sound. He won't even be out of your sight."

"Well. That sounds reasonable after all. I knew I was right about you," the older man said. Castle snapped his fingers, and the boy stood up. He tossed the end of the leash to Ian, who took it, frowned at it, then dropped it to the floor.

"He won't go anywhere without permission, will he?"

"Of course not," Castle said stiffly.

Ian unhooked the leash from the collar, then tousled the boy's rather limp blond hair. "There you go, kid, relax a minute."

The boy planted his elbows on his knees to make his crouch more comfortable. Apparently that was relaxing. From that position, it was hard _not_ to notice the track marks on the boy's arms, although some of the entourage made an effort at it. Ian scowled at the marks, visibly thought about picking a fight, then settled back into a relaxed pose again.

"Jager," Ian told a buxom redhead as she made a sweep of their balcony. "Hey. Get the kid a glass of water." He shot a look at Castle. "Assuming he doesn't drink out of a bowl."

Castle chuckled genially and nodded at the red head, then ordered himself a bottle of wine that probably cost as much as a decent computer. As soon as she was gone, Castle gave Ian a flinty look that should have intimidated him but didn't.

"We'll just keep our business to ourselves, won't we?"

The red head was good. She returned in only moments and didn't make eye contact. Ian handed the water to the boy, who took it without saying a word or meeting his eyes, and looked at Castle. Castle nodded to him, and he drank a few swallows before setting the glass between his feet and resuming his patient crouching.

They drank and they chatted. Castle turned out to be a very wealthy businessman who collected rare art and required a lawyer on retainer. He showed interest in Ian's legal courses, joked about needing a powerful and authoritative guy like him. It was clear he was disparaging Ian, and it was clear that Ian wasn't going to take it. Ian answered that no matter how pleasant Castle made life for his pet, Ian wasn't interested in becoming one. They moved on to the area's nightlife and agreed that The Factory was the best of the bunch. The metal grille features and catwalks, with the muted neon lights, not to mention the skill level of its employees, all came together to make a cohesive near-perfection. Castle expressed curiosity that Ian's puritanical sensibilities allowed him to enjoy clubs.

The boy was becoming more interested. His head was raised, and his eyes moved back and forth between the two men as their banter took on a decidedly sharp edge. Ian was glad to see that the boy was capable of being interested in anything. He found himself playing with the boy's hair. He'd always annoyed his little sister by doing this to her hair. He'd never admit to missing Dovie, but here he was running his fingers through the boy's hair with a sense of comfort in the familiarity of it. He didn't know what the hell _else_ to do with the kid, anyway.

The boy was leaning back into his touch, resting his back against Ian's leg. It was weird, it was like he actually thought of himself as an animal, as a pet. Or maybe he just liked Ian? He eventually picked up the glass of water and drank the rest of it, then his shoulders hunched like he was expecting to be struck for his daring. Ian just patted his head, thinking it would make the most sense to him, and the boy looked at him for the first time. Ian smiled at him to make sure the kid didn't think Ian was going to hit him, and the boy _almost_ smiled back.

"Time's up," Castle said sharply.

"What time?" Ian replied.

"You've had your hour. What do you think?" Ian ran his hand over the boy's hair one more time to encourage him. When he turned back to Castle, his eyes were cold. "Now I hate it even more. You're a sick bastard, Castle. I don't care where you got him. If you've gotta shoot him up to make him stay, it doesn't matter."

Castle sneered. He snapped his fingers. Before he got up to move to Castle's side, the boy's hand closed around Ian's ankle and squeezed. Ian had no idea what it meant, but it was enough to know that the kid had a brain of his own still locked in there. Ian grabbed hold of the boy's arm to stop him, and Castle stood up, too. Ian gave him a smirking look and reattached the boy's leash, making Castle's tension ease just a bit. But when Ian leaned forward to snap the catch into place, he locked eyes with the boy.

His eyes were gray. Almost silver. Ian had never seen eyes that colour before.

"You don't want to go with him, do you?" he murmured.

The boy said nothing.

"If you don't want to go with him, then all you gotta do is nothing at all," Ian said.

"What are you doing?" Castle snapped, unable to hear Ian over the loud music. He snapped his fingers again. "Come here, my pet, it's time we were leaving."

Ian was still holding his eyes.

"Make a decision," Ian said, loudly enough that Castle could hear him. "I think what he's doing with you is wrong, and I'll stand by my opinion. But you decide. If you don't want to go with him, then don't."

The boy said nothing. His breathing was picking up speed.

Ian held the end of the leash out to Castle. The boy reached out his own hand for it, then wavered and jerked his hand back. Castle was astonished.

"What do you think you're doing?" he said in a low, dangerous voice. "Don't forget what you'd be going back to, _pet_. Is that what you want?"

Ian was still holding the leash. "What do you want, kid? Are you coming with me, or with him? All you need to know is that one of us won't make you wear this thing."

The boy's hand flashed up to his throat and he unhooked the leash. He took a step sideways, closer to Ian, as Castle took a disbelieving step forward.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"He's coming with me," Ian said, looking every inch the Prince now. "Thought that was obvious, Lars."

"How dare you interfere in my business," he hissed. "You will _come here now_," he addressed the boy, who took another nervous step closer to Ian. Ian was shuffling himself in front of the boy, knowing that this would come to blows any moment. One good punch and the emaciated kid was done for, so Ian wasn't going to let him get involved.

Then Al Bolton ghosted in. Nobody saw him coming, he was just suddenly there, and he had three other large men with him.

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?"

For Bolton to get personally involved could only mean that he considered both of them to be important guests in his club. But Ian knew without asking that Bolton would side with Castle if it came down to that. It wasn't even a question. Castle was an older, established man of wealth and a history with Bolton. Ian was just the son of a big-shot southern lawyer who was following in his old man's footsteps whenever he was sober enough.

So Ian didn't give him a chance to take sides. It would only provide a cue for any watchers who would side with Bolton.

Castle smiled, and gestured to the boy. "No, there's no pro—"

Ian had played football in high school. He knew how to throw his whole weight at something, and he chose that moment to throw it all behind his punch to Castle's gut. Castle went to his knees and vomited, while Ian was spinning around and dropping to one knee to throw one of Bolton's bodyguards over his shoulder. The other two were occupied with some of Ian's friends, who'd decided to give him their loyalty. Ian could have tried to fight with Bolton, could have tried to back up his friends, could have gone to his knees and apologized for making trouble.

But Ian chose the most expedient route. He grabbed the kid by the wrist and dragged him away. He wanted to run, but the boy was slow to respond and stumbled down the stairs behind him. Ian started looking for a quick way out where no one could see him to stop him. He felt bad for leaving the others behind, but getting the kid away from Castle was sort of the point, wasn't it? And he really didn't want to be the reason his father had to fly up here to negotiate with a criminal like Bolton.

He ducked into a serving area and tried to look for an escape route. Someone stepped in front of him. He started to lower his shoulder and power his way past them. Surprisingly, it was the kid who stopped him, grabbing a handful of his shirt and hauling back on it. Ian came to a stop, looked a little more closely, and realized he was looking at Angelica Bolton.

"Little girl, you're wrong if you think you can stop me. I ain't gonna hit you, but I'll sure as hell throw you over my shoulder and carry you until you're not a problem anymore."

"I bite," she said, baring her teeth in illustration. "But I'm not here to stop you."

"Oh, really? Even though your daddy is hot on my tail?"

"I despise Castle, and I despise that I have ever had to speak to him. You're right that he deserves better—whoever he is," she said, gesturing at the boy. Her disdain for him was obvious, since she didn't look directly at him. "So, come with me. There's a door through here, and no one will see you use it."

"I don't trust you, little girl."

"That's smart, but the door doesn't require your trust to exist, and it's this way. Let's go."

Ian followed her, prepared for anything. Well, anything but the door that she led him to, which was dark and abandoned and out which he walked without another soul the wiser. He really hadn't expected that she was telling the truth, somehow. Either way, it was only seconds before he was flagging down a cab and getting far away from both the Factory and Angelica.

"Well, this is some adventure you've got me into," he said to the kid jovially, thinking this might be a good time to start figuring out who he was.

The boy had pulled his feet up into the seat, wrapped his arms around his legs, and was trying to make himself a tiny ball of silence. He was clearly scared to death, his eyes darting wildly from Ian to the rapidly passing scenery.

"It's all right now," Ian said more gently.

The boy shook his head. "Are you taking me back?"

It was the first time he'd spoken.

"Back? Back to Castle? You think I'm returning you to the sick bastard, after I'm done with you or something? Huh? Why do you think I took you away?"

"I don't know," he answered in a small voice.

"Well, listen— hey, what's your name, kid?" It had suddenly dawned on him that "kid" and "pet" were not names he was interested in using.

"Whatever you want," the boy said, suddenly using those full lips that hadn't seen much action tonight. He was giving Ian an almost _lush_ smile, the dirty kind. "That's what I'm for. To be whatever you want."

"You got a real name," Ian insisted. "The one you were born with. I want to use that one."

The smile disappeared, the boy hunched further in on himself, and he started looking out the window again. "I don't."

"Don't what?"

"Have a real name."

"Your momma didn't call you anything?"

"I don't remember. I haven't seen her in a long time."

"But you—"

"I don't _remember_," the boy growled, and those gray eyes flashed a warning sign. His past, whatever it was, seemed to be off-limits as a conversation topic. Ian supposed it couldn't be anything good, since he hadn't seen his mother in so long he didn't remember her and since he'd ended up as the sexual fetish of a creepy businessman.

"All right!" Ian snapped. "Keep your hair on. Well, is there somewhere you want me to take you?"

"You don't get it," the boy said miserably. "I don't _want_ things. I do what _you_ want."

Ian could think of a lot of things to scream at the boy, like "That's bullshit" and "Where the hell did you come from?" and "Better start figuring out what you want, quick." But he couldn't think of anything to _say_, at least nothing particularly reassuring or helpful, so he clamped his mouth shut. He only opened it to order the cab driver to stop at a hotel and to speak to the desk clerk to check them in. It was a pretty scummy place, since it was the middle of the night, but that meant the clerk didn't ask questions. A nicer place, and the employee would have looked at the boy's age and clothing (or lack thereof—what the hell was with the bare feet?) and run for a manager.

The boy looked around, seeming amused by the dingy room Ian had gotten them.

"I didn't think you would have gone for this," he said—no, _purred_. "You didn't seem like the cheap hotel room type."

"What are you talking about?" Ian asked wearily, sitting down on the edge of one of the two beds. He was only half-listening as he tried to think about what he was going to do. He had to figure out what to do with the kid.

It got kind of hard to make plans when he realized the kid was kneeling between his legs and sliding his fingers around Ian's belt buckle.

"What are you doing?" Ian yelped, jumping to his feet and reflexively taking a swing. The boy didn't even try to duck, catching Ian's hand on his temple and falling to all fours for a moment. Then he seemed to decide to stay on all fours, and looked up at Ian while utilizing his full lips again to uncomfortable effect. They were parted a little, indicating that he _liked_ being struck on the head.

"Don't even give me that," Ian growled. "You didn't enjoy that at all. So knock it off. I didn't bring you here for that."

The boy pushed himself back to his knees. "Then why did you?"

"Because they all know who I am and they know where I live. If we went there tonight, Castle will just swing on by with a few buddies to take you back. Probably rough me up pretty good, which I ain't interested in. So for tonight, we're hiding out here. I gotta think."

"But . . . why?"

Ian stared at him. "No idea," he said finally. "You're just a kid and what Castle was doing to you wasn't right, that's all I know. Don't know why I had to be the one to help you out. Now, you answer me for real this time: is there somewhere I can take you?"

"Back to the man my master bought me from."

"Castle _bought_ you? And screw this 'master' shit, he's not your damn master, you don't have a master, you got that? But he bought you. From whom?"

"From my pimp."

"You have a fucking pimp?"

"He owns me. He used to only sell me for a night, like he did with the girls, but Castle wanted to keep me, so he sold me to him."

"Holy bleeding fuck," Ian responded, then realized just how deeply he'd involved himself in this mess. If the kid had nowhere to go, and no name that he even knew, then it was up to Ian, wasn't it? He scrubbed his face in his hands. "Right. I'm taking a shower and going to sleep. I suggest you do the same. Whatever you do, don't leave this room, you hear me? You don't leave until I say you can." He'd probably take orders, since he was so interested in doing whatever Ian wanted. It was the only suggestion Ian had at the moment. "We'll figure all this out in the morning."

"Okay," the boy said, and stood up with Ian, following him toward the bathroom.

"Oh hell no," Ian snarled. "You take your own shower."

"Okay," the boy said serenely, and sat down cross-legged on the bed to wait.

When Ian emerged wearing nothing but a towel, the boy uncrossed his legs and looked prepared for anything.

"Oh, go take a shower and go to sleep," Ian growled at him. He put his underclothes back on and slid into one of the beds. After a few minutes, he felt the covers being pulled back, and he slapped the boy's hand. "You got your own bed, kid. You ain't sleeping in mine."

The boy drew back, looking genuinely confused. "But you haven't made one for me."

Ian squeezed his eyes shut and counted to ten. "That one right there," he said, pointing at the vacant bed.

"You don't want me to sleep on the floor?"

Ian counted to ten again. "No, I don't. For fuck's sake, just go to sleep. Wherever you feel the most comfortable, okay?"

"Really? Wherever I want?"

Ian hadn't expected the bright look that appeared on the kid's face at that. Really, when was the last time anyone had let him make even such a simple choice? Ian's anger was beginning to pass over into real pity, the more tired he got. So he made an effort at smiling.

"Yes. Really." If he wanted to sleep on the floor, so be it. "Wherever you want."

Ian counted to twenty through gritted teeth and inched himself over to the very edge of the bed as the boy climbed in beside him. "That is not what I meant," he mumbled, but he didn't think he was loud enough to be heard. He'd said "wherever" and he wasn't about to take away the first decision the kid had made on his own. "Just . . . Don't touch me, okay?"

"Okay," the boy said. Then he stiffened, and sat up again. "Oh. _Oh_. You're one of those people. You think I'm disgusting. I thought you were . . . never mind." He got out of the bed and got in the other one. "I'm clean, you know," he said, turning his back to Ian and pulling the covers over himself.

"Hey!" Ian protested. "Don't go putting words in my mouth, understand? I wasn't trying to say anything! Forgive me for freaking out, but this _is_ the first time I've shared a bed with a _guy_."

The boy suddenly turned around, and rather than being angry, he had a strange sly grin on his face. "You mean you're shy?"

"No— I— God, forget it. Go to sleep. I'm begging you. You look like shit, you need some sleep."

"Oh," he said, the smile falling. "I guess I need . . . Yeah. I'll sleep."

Thinking that was just a nice insane cap to the weirdest day he'd ever had, Ian firmly pulled the covers up and resolutely closed his eyes, thinking that tomorrow would be soon enough to figure all this out.

Half of this happened the way he wanted it to. In the morning, he knew what he needed to do, but that was because he'd never quite fallen asleep. The implications of where he was and what he was doing had struck him at about four o'clock in the morning, and he realized that he had only two real options. He sat up through the dawn, watching the boy sleep, and trying to decide which option he was going to take. Unfortunately, watching the boy's restless sleep didn't give him any clues. Ian was no closer to making a decision when the boy finally woke at nearly noon.

The boy was facing him when he blinked his way awake.

"Hey, there, Gray Eyes," Ian drawled. "Welcome back."

The boy gave him a befuddled look. He stretched, making a little keening noise as he did so. He sat up, pushing the covers aside.

"You want some coffee?" Ian had made a pot of the truly horrific brown water they called coffee, and he'd slurped down about half of it while waiting for the boy to wake up.

"Uh, sure," the boy answered in a rusty voice.

Ian handed him a cup.

"What did you call me?"

"Well, I'm not gonna call you 'pet,' so it's 'Gray Eyes' until I figure out your real name."

"Oh." He smiled as he raised the coffee to his lips, giving Ian a look that was hard to figure out. Ian struggled to interpret it, and realized that he was having trouble with it because the boy was acting so shy about it. But that sort of hesitation made sense, after what he'd been through. Either way, the boy had given him that smiling look with the shining eyes because he _liked_ the name. He was happy, and it was real instead of an act.

He got restless as he worked his way through the awful coffee. He was fidgeting a lot. He did get up and go to the bathroom, but when he came back out, it didn't seem to have helped. Ian didn't say anything. He wanted the kid to speak for himself. Well, he wanted to see if the kid _could_ speak for himself. It might help Ian make up his mind.

"Are you just going to stare at me all day?" the boy suddenly snarled at him.

"What?" Ian blinked.

"What do you want with me? What am I really doing here?"

"I don't know just yet, I really don't. I'm trying to figure out a way to help you, okay?"

"Well, while you're thinking about how to help me, is there something you want me to do for you?"

"Oh, god, not this again."

But the boy was setting the coffee cup aside, putting on a different face. "Whatever it is, just tell me. I don't know you yet, I don't know how to guess what you want. So please tell me."

"I don't want anything from you, kid."

The boy was on his knees in front of Ian again, and Ian tried to scramble backward.

"You really don't want anything?"

"No!"

"Then please," the boy moaned, putting his head down on the mattress, burying his face. "Please. If you're not holding it back until I serve you, can I have it now?"`

"What the fuck? Can you have what?"

"I'm begging you. I'm going crazy. Please just get it over with. I know it's stupid to beg, because I hate it, but I'm begging anyway. Just do it." He had raised his face, and now he was stretching out his arms toward Ian. Ian thought he was reaching out to grab him for a minute, then it hit him like a kick in the gut, and he was attacked by a wave of real sympathy.

His hand closed over the track marks on the boy's arm. "I'm not going to do that."

"You're not? But you have to," he panted, tears in his eyes.

"Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. When I took you from Castle, I just took you. I didn't exactly wait around for all your toys."

"But you _have_ to," he repeated. "It's not my fault, I didn't want to. Okay? I didn't want to, he made me, and now I can't help it. Please, please, please. You have to."

"I can't," Ian said as gently as he could. "I'm sorry, Gray Eyes." He thought maybe using the name that had made the kid so happy would help. It didn't. The kid crawled back into bed, curled up in a ball, and stayed that way. Ian went to his bed and sat down on it. "Hey. Kid. Come on, don't panic or anything. It can't be that bad."

He let out a wild giggle in response. "What do you know?"

"How long has it been like this? I mean, when did you start living with Castle? When did he start drugging you?"

The boy just kept rocking back and forth, and it was a minute before he answered. "I'm not sure. It's been a while. Months."

"Aw shit," Ian whispered. "Every day?"

"No, not every day. But a lot. He likes it when I have to ask for it. He likes it when I beg him. Is that what you like? I will, okay? Anything you want. Just please. Please."

Ian put his hand on the boy's shoulder to try to calm him down. "No. Sorry. But I can't and I won't, so you've gotta get through this. You're not going back to that kind of life, you hear me? You're gonna get through this."

"I can't."

"I'm gonna help. I promise. I'll help you."

There. Decision made. Ian made the kid drink some water while he called a cab. The cabbie was not pleased by his distraught passenger, and less so when Ian left the kid in the cab while he ran into the bank. But at least his forceful and magnetic personality made sure his business was concluded quickly, and he hurried back out to find the shocked cabbie staring at the kid's suffering. The boy was just sitting there, rubbing his hands furiously over his marked-up arms, while his face was becoming haggard and he was chewing his lip so hard that it was bleeding.

"Buddy, I don't like this," the cabbie said. "How about I just let you guys out right here, okay? I can't have this kind of shit in my cab, you know?"

"Shut up and drive," Ian said, reaching out to wipe the blood off the boy's chin. "Hey, stop that. Come on. You're gonna hurt yourself."

"Man, I don't know—"

"I said drive."

"Where the fuck to?" the cabbie snapped.

"Nearest police station," Ian said grimly.

The boy jerked in surprise, turning to Ian and leaving off his frantic rubbing so that he could grab fistfuls of Ian's shirt.

"No. Don't do that. I don't . . ."

"Listen to me. I'm trying to be a lawyer, I know what happens to people who do dumb shit like keep this to themselves. No. It never works. We're going to the cops, and we're gonna be completely honest, you understand? You haven't done anything wrong, you're not going to be in trouble. Neither of us is gonna get busted for anything. I'm going to be up front, tell them I just met you last night and I got you away from that guy." Ian leaned in good and close to whisper the last bit. "We're gonna tell one lie. We're going to say we don't know his real name. Okay? He's probably got people, and if he doesn't, Bolton does. I don't want them coming after us. So we don't tell his real name."

"That isn't his real name," the boy said. "He only goes by Castle for this kind of stuff, for things like me. He has another name that's his business name. I don't know what it is."

"Oh. Then the whole truth it is."

"What are the police going to do with me?" the boy asked, still frightened.

"Hopefully they're going to tell us what your name is. We're gonna need it. I need to know all kinds of things about you that they'll have to figure out for us."

"Us? What do you mean? Why do you need to know?"

"So I can help you, Gray Eyes. You're just a kid. You need a place to live, you need to go to school. I can't do that for you if I don't have some kind of name and social security number to go by."

"What?"

"I've been thinking about this all night, kid. I had two choices. I could dump you at the police station without letting them see me, and I wash my hands of the whole thing. Or I help you. I didn't know which one I was gonna do until you started begging me for drugs. I can't just hand you over like that. I don't know if I can fix you, but at least I got the time to try. They're so overrun with everyone else's fucking problems, and they'll lose you somewhere. So I'm making you my problem."

The boy was back to rubbing his arms, and his eyes were closed. He started gnawing at his lip again, and Ian was helpless to stop him from doing it, short of holding him down and physically keeping his lips away from his teeth. And that would really give the kid the wrong idea about all this.

"I don't understand," he whispered. Then he started saying it over and over. "I don't understand. I don't understand. I don't—"

"Me, either, kid, but you're making _me_ need a hit, just watching you. _Stop_ that." He held the boy's wrists tight, which only worked until the kid started banging his head against the back of seat.

"Hey, we're here!" the cabbie announced in enormous relief.

Ian tossed some money at him, probably too much, and helped the kid get out. They went inside. They told their story. They told it over and over again. And each time, Ian repeated what he wanted: to find out who the kid belonged to, so Ian could take him away from them. He wanted to know the boy's name, so he had something to write down when he became his legal guardian. They were enormously suspicious of this. It turned into a fiasco. Ian had to call the family's lawyer.

Daddy was not happy. Daddy was especially not happy about Ian's plans to take a semester off, starting that very day. Daddy threatened to cut him off. Ian did not particularly give a shit. Ian had just emptied out his rather impressive bank account, and Daddy could feel free to shut it down now that there was nothing in it.

In the end, Ian's father sent a junior partner from his firm, who stormed in like the harbinger of litigation doom, demanded to know why they hadn't fed the poor pathetic starving boy, and he got Ian what he wanted. He also handed him a receipt revealing that his father had dumped some more money in Ian's account, but made it clear that he had one semester. One. After that he was to get back to Yale and buckle down to his studies, or this was the last thing he'd be getting from Daddy.

"Agreed," Ian said, crumpling the slip of paper and tossing it away.

The kid spent two weeks in rehab while Ian spent two weeks looking for a small apartment and moving himself out of college housing. Rehab was supposed to take longer, but he turned up one night and said he didn't want to go back, so Ian didn't make him. He showed him to his room and watched his fitful sleep and hoped he'd done the right thing.

The next year of his life was mostly utter hell, with a few bright spots. They found the kid's pimp, found out that he was also the kid's mother's pimp, and that he'd all but owned the boy since he was a small child. They found out that he'd never officially been born, having been delivered in a bathtub. He had no birth certificate and no records. His mother had called him Bastard, the pimp had called him whatever name he thought would appeal to the boy's customers, and then Castle had mostly just called him Pet.

When it came time to make him an official human being, he took the name Gray.

He was fifteen, near as they could tell, but he was so fucked up from the drugs that trying to put him in school was pointless. He could read and write, and his pimp had gotten some crazy idea in his head about what the customers might like, so he could also spout huge blocks of poetry. But his ability to focus was shot to hell and his short term memory was shit. Ian took it upon himself to teach him. There was a lot of shouting and fighting and sometimes running away but always coming back in a day or so. Gray worked his ass off to learn, but his frustration over his traitorous brain made it a violent process.

It took him two years to earn him GED. When he got the certificate at seventeen, he cried in Ian's arms out of sheer relief.

He needed some help to become a normal person, and they both knew it. But after two successive therapists were unable to understand the kid, Ian stopped trying that method and enrolled Gray at a local judo school. And since Gray was too neurotic to do that on his own, Ian enrolled himself as well. They found that letting off their steam in a controlled fight was far superior to shouting at one another and slamming doors. The constant tension they carried on their shoulders seemed to work its way out during their lessons, and the anger that was forever bubbling under the surface in both of them was let out in weekly doses.

Besides, finding something Gray did so effortlessly was its own reward.

After that first year, Ian finally spoke to his father and heard the demand that he return to Yale. Ian thought about it. He still had a year and a half of law school left. It was a demanding course of study. It was a constant thing, hardly enough time to eat or sleep, much less time for anything else. He would end up spending nights in the school library. And since Gray was studying for his GED and studying for a driver's license, he needed a lot of help. Leaving him alone all the time, as Ian would have to if he went back to school, was out of the question. Learning judo might be helping Gray put his demons behind him, but he wasn't even close to being well. He had a long way to go.

So Ian said no.

Daddy was furious, as expected. He threatened and argued and wheedled.

Ian still said he wasn't going back.

And as expected, the money stopped coming. Ian didn't care. His father had now successfully alienated both of his children. But that got Ian to thinking about his baby sister. Dovie hadn't taken well to it when their father had interfered in her life. The old man had used the accident she got in as his golden opportunity to get rid of the inappropriate boyfriend. Alex was from the wrong side of the tracks, and he wasn't good enough for her, supposedly. So Daddy told Alex that Dovie died in the accident and ran him out of town. It had been wrong, and cruel, and Dovie had left home and never returned.

Since helping people was going so well for him, Ian decided it was past time he helped his own sister. He flew to California to help her look for Alex. He and Daddy stopped fighting then, because it was hard to fight with someone you weren't speaking to.

* * *

_February 16__th_

Ian woke up early and rolled over, feeling very uncomfortable. It took him a minute to remember that he was sleeping on Alex and Dovie's pull-out bed rather than his own, and he found himself reflecting on his reasons for being here. And how it had come to this. From that moment in that club, to this moment in his sister's living room.

He stretched his arms over his head as he stumbled to the front door to grab the morning paper. A quick look at the news and a cup of coffee were just the thing to get his mind off the things that were troubling him. Like how he hadn't spoken to his father in two years. But what did it matter, if Gray was stable and Dovie was happy?

Perhaps it was only because he was reminiscing over his recent history that he wasn't surprised, upon opening the door, to find Gray sitting on the front steps. After all, Gray had followed him last time he'd gone to visit Dovie, too. Not that Dovie knew that.

"Morning, Gray Eyes," Ian said slowly, trying to think. His voice always got thicker when he'd been talking to his sister, and he sounded like a certified hick today. "What're you doing here?" He sat down on the step beside the young man, deciding to hold off on his anger for now.

Gray shrugged, his eyes on the rising sun instead of Ian. "I'm not sure."

"Hope you don't want to kill my sister this time."

"Not so much," Gray said restlessly. He rubbed the skin on the inside of his arms. The marks had long since disappeared, but it was still a nervous habit of his.

"You got a job at the bakery you ought to be at. Brian said he'd keep an eye on you."

Gray nodded. "Yeah. But he said I was too short-tempered when you aren't around, so he told me to take a few days off."

"And life is just so boring without me, is that it?" Ian drawled.

Gray's jaw clenched, and he rubbed his arms again. "I didn't . . . I thought it was . . . Look, we were fighting when you left, and I didn't know if you were coming back this time. I didn't want the last thing I ever said to you to be something angry. I came because I wanted to stop fighting."

"Gray. You followed me out here to apologize?" Ian said in amusement.

"Only if you do!" he snapped, and put a sharp elbow in Ian's gut.

Well, he tried to. Ian moved his own arm in time to block the blow. Gray shoved away from him, striding restlessly into the dew-wet yard and looking up at him from there. He looked impatient and upset and utterly uncertain. He always looked like that when he started thinking that Ian didn't have any reason to be so committed to him. He got himself in these states where he was convinced Ian was going to dump him off on some corner and drive away.

And there was probably a few hurt feelings, too . . .

"Hey, listen. I do need to apologize," Ian said. "I didn't even stick around for your birthday. I'm sorry."

They'd probably made it too early by a few months, but they'd picked the day they'd met as Gray's birthday. Three years ago, now. He had turned eighteen while Ian had been hiding out with Alex and Dovie.

"You ought to be," Gray said stubbornly. Ian was going to have to try harder if he wanted some forgiveness. In all honesty, Gray didn't have much to apologize for, not this time. No, this was Ian's screw-up, as they always seemed to be.

"Look, we both got pretty hot over the whole thing, and I needed some time to think. That's why I came out here. Okay? I just came to think it all over. I wasn't just taking off. You know I wouldn't do that. Even if that _is_ what you want me to do."

Gray scowled at him. "All I said was that it's about time for you to think about going back to school. You're the one who made it this issue about abandoning me or something. I'm eighteen, Ian. If you're going to become a lawyer, now's the time."

"I know. That's what I've been thinking about. But you can't blame me for getting upset about it, can you? You've been waiting for me to just dump you and walk away for three years, and you not having any faith in me is starting to get real old. When you started telling me I should just leave you, I didn't like it."

"So you got all pissed off and did it anyway," Gray sighed, rolling his eyes. "And I'm supposed to be the brain-damaged one. But it's like I said. This isn't about me. It's about you. Seriously, Ian, is it a crime that I want to start putting your needs ahead of mine?"

"No," Ian said. He really _had_ found this to be a good place to think. "No, it actually makes me pretty happy. I think you're finally getting the hang of this."

"You do?" Gray seemed surprised. "But I still screw things up all the time."

"Yeah, well, so does everybody else," Ian grinned, and came down to the yard and threw his arm over Gray's shoulders. "I never have quite figured out just what in the hell you are to me, you know? So it freaks me out sometimes that you care about me as much as I do about you. Go easy on me, I screw up at least as much as you do."

"You got that right," Gray snorted, trying to shove Ian's arm off him. Ian locked his arm in place and wouldn't let him.

"Hey, I'm trying to bond with you, here. Where do you think you're going?"

"Nowhere," Gray said, and then he just wilted. It was such a random change that for a moment Ian was dumbfounded. Gray just let his shoulders slump and his face droop. "It's not like I have anywhere to go," he mumbled, and turned his face into Ian's shoulder.

"Hey. Don't be like that."

"Sorry." He continued pressing his face into Ian, letting himself be drawn in against the older man. "I messed up your whole life, and I can't do any of this without you. I'm sorry."

"Stop that," Ian said, bringing up his free hand to stroke the golden hair that was tickling his neck. "You didn't mess up anything, all right? Far as I'm concerned, my life for the past three years has been perfect."

Gray inhaled deeply, then turned his face slightly to the side, inhaled again.

"What are you doing?" Ian asked, slightly amused.

"Smelling you," Gray mumbled.

Ian barked out a disbelieving laugh. "Smell—"

Gray jerked back so suddenly that Ian couldn't stop him. He took a step away, and his face was bright red.

"Uh . . . I didn't mean to. I won't. Do it again, that is. Sorry."

"Right, well, don't worry about it," Ian responded in confusion. _Smelling_ him? Whatever in hell for? "Anyway, come on. We got to celebrate your eighteenth birthday somehow. We'll make Dovie cook breakfast for starters."

"Um, how much does she know about me?"

"She don't," Ian said gently. "Didn't want to tell her about you when you were so busy hating her."

"Oh. Maybe I shouldn't come in. God, I knew it, I knew you didn't want anyone to know about me. I'm going home, okay? I'll—"

"Shut your mouth and get up those stairs. Go on. Dovie will be pissed at me for not telling her sooner, but she'll cook _you_ breakfast, anyway." Ian put his arm over Gray's shoulders again. He chuckled, even though there was little humour in the sound. "Funny. You're legal, now."

"Yeah, it's hilarious," Gray said grumpily. "So I was an underage whore, so rub it in."

"You never were," Ian said soberly. "You have to be able to _decide_ to be a whore. All you were was a scared kid. So don't be talking that kind of crap, you hear me?"

Gray nodded, relaxing into Ian's arm for a moment. "You don't have to be this good to me," he said, his voice very quiet. "You could have asked me for anything after you took me away from them. You don't have to keep treating me this well."

"I don't _have_ to do anything," Ian said quietly. "I just want to."

"It's been three years. I still don't know why."

"Neither do I."

"Can you _try_ to tell me? Please?"

"I don't have anything to say that doesn't sound stupid."

"I don't care."

"Well, it was just . . . Back when we met, that first night, in the club. You just looked at me. You didn't ask for help. You wanted it, but you didn't know how to ask. It was like as soon as I met eyes with you, I heard what you couldn't say, and knew I was the only one who could hear it. Seems like I knew right then that I was the only one who was _ever_ gonna hear it. I knew you needed me."

"But you still could have walked away."

"Not really. I mean, the option was there, I suppose. But when I saw you at that hotel, scratching your arms up and all . . . No. I couldn't have walked away after that."

"Not even now?"

"Now? I don't even want to, anymore. Don't know what I'd do with myself if I wasn't looking out for you."

"That was kind of the point of all this, wasn't it? That I'm of legal age, that I've got a GED and a car and a job. You wanted to make it so I didn't need anyone to look out for me."

"I know. Doesn't mean I don't want to keep doing it. Besides, you're the one who just said you can't do it without me."

"I know," Gray said, and he closed his eyes while he said it, sounding frustrated and tired.

Their heads were so close together that when Ian tried to look over Gray, all he could see was his face. He was sorta pretty, for a boy. But that was to be expected, given his previous occupation. His golden hair was always disordered, because he probably forgot to comb it. When his eyes were open, they snapped with energy.

He probably _was_ frustrated and tired. Ian's fault, again. He couldn't figure out why he wanted Gray around, so he was always leaving the kid hanging. Gray was awfully screwed-up in the head, it was true, but there was really only one thing he could possibly mean by smelling Ian's skin. Ian just kept making him wait around for an answer. All he really knew was that he _did_ want Gray around, because the lean young man leaning against him was always going to need him in one way or another. He'd made his decision three years ago, and all this arguing and going off in a huff to sleep on his sister's couch wasn't going to change that.

He didn't even know that he moved. He just blinked and realized he'd put both of his arms around the younger man and that his cheek was resting on Gray's hair. He could feel Gray breathing against his neck, his whole body tense and ready to break away from Ian to run.

"What are you doing?" Gray whispered.

"Nothing. Just didn't really know what to say." Ian turned his head to press his lips into Gray's hair. "Actions speak louder than words, my Mama always used to tell me." He let Gray go, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him inside. "Now come on, I'm hungry and Dovie makes great pancakes."

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_Since (at the time of writing this, anyway) we do not know the real story behind Iorogi and Ginsei, I was forced to invent one. I took what little I do know of Iorogi's backstory, and added my impression of Ginsei as a character, and skewed it as dark and angsty as I could, in true Clamp tradition. (I can't be the only one who thinks Ginsei comes off as very young and very confused.) I do not have insider information on future chapters of Kobato. I just made this part up. Including their physical descriptions. But since I smell a parallel character thing between these two and Kurogane & Fai . . . I basically just tweaked the physical characteristics of those two. Ian is slightly smaller and prettier, and Gray's hair and eyes are a slightly different colour. I'm trying __not__ to picture them in too much detail so I'm ready when we actually get to see their spirit forms in Kobato. Assuming we do._

_But . . . But what about FINN? (Yes, I can hear you.) Mwa-ha-ha! I am evil; hear my evil laughter! You will notice that it is the morning of February 16th in this chapter, meaning Finn was only shot a few hours ago. In fact, Chapter 10 is also about Ian and Gray, and it all takes place on February 16__th__ as well. You are going to be left wondering FOREVER._

_Well, okay, I'm not __purely__ evil. I am posting Chapter 10 simultaneously, so you only have to wait one more week to find out what happened, instead of two. See how nice I am, for an evil person?_


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

_February 16th_

Ian made sure that Gray took the lead into the house, since he couldn't be sure the kid wouldn't make a break for it if Ian went ahead of him. He would be feeling all insecure right about now, Ian figured, even though he'd just been reassured-with-a-capital-R that he was important to him. Gray didn't really like meeting new people, and he must be especially nervous about meeting the only other person Ian considered important.

Ian wasn't nervous at all. In fact, he was finding himself pretty excited by the idea of introducing Dovie to Gray. Her positive spirit would go a long ways toward making Gray feel comfortable as part of their little family. For family he was, in Ian's mind, and his sister was going to love the kid the way she did everyone: without reservation. As for why he hadn't told Dovie about Gray before now . . .

Well, that was a story he'd better get straight if he didn't want to get booted off the couch and sent to sleep in the doghouse. Wasn't hard to explain, if he was honest with himself—just shameful. It was always shameful to look like that much of an idiot.

"Ian, if you didn't want me to meet your sister then I can go . . ." Gray was mumbling, trying not to be heard as Ian propelled him toward the kitchen. He'd had the sense to pick up the newspaper he'd walked out the door for, and the coffee was on an automatic timer and already brewed, bless it.

"I believe I just said I did want you to meet her," was Ian's answer, and then he was pushing Gray into a chair and thunking a cup of coffee on the table in front of him. "Now hush up until they're awake. I love my sister, and she'll love you, but she'll still tear your head from your shoulders if something other than her own willpower gets her out of bed."

"Her husband must fear for his life pretty regularly," Gray said with a smirk, accepting his coffee and drinking it in spite of his discomfort. He could feel unwelcome all day and he'd still drink coffee if it was available, which seemed pretty natural to Ian after the number of sleepless nights the two of them had been through. Ah, caffeine dependence.

"He manages to get on with her," Ian shrugged, and took the sports section with the intention of reading every word.

Gray started his usual routine, separating out each section and stacking them up in front of him. He would skim the entire paper looking for something interesting, and he'd only read what caught his eye. He had a hard time with reading, had to force himself to do it, but that didn't stop him from partaking in the morning ritual as he'd observed from Ian. At first Ian had thought it was weird that Gray would force himself to do something he didn't like, then he was humbled and overwhelmed by the realization that Gray looked to him for cues as to how normal life worked. He tried so hard to find ways to be normal, and he seemed to think having a cup of coffee and looking at the morning news was good for him.

It was calming him down, too, Ian saw. He was nervous and antsy about being here, but doing his typical morning activity was settling him a bit. Ian didn't like it when Gray was nervous, since he was liable to work himself into an even more insecure state and then be down on himself the rest of the day.

Alex shuffled into the kitchen first, his hair barely contained in a ponytail and mostly just poking out in random fluffy spikes. He was barefoot and shirtless, wearing only a pair of drawstring pants, and his eyes were mere slits that were focused right on the coffeepot.

"Morning, Ian," he yawned, walking past the table. He poured his coffee, held it under his nose and smelled it, blew on it and took a quick sip. He turned back around to shuffle out again, and made it halfway to the door before he froze, looking at Gray. "Uh. Who are you?"

"He's with me," Ian said, aware that this was not very descriptive, but probably the most Alex could hope to register until he was more awake.

Alex glared at them both. "Don't move."

Ian serenely went on with his coffee and an article about the Dodgers, but Gray took it pretty much literally. He sat very still and his grip on the edges of the paper became destructively tight. Alex returned after only a moment, now with a shirt on, his eyeglasses in place, and his hair hastily brushed.

"Ian," he said levelly. "I know you're Dovie's brother, and I know you did us a good turn. I don't even mind your surprise visit. But you really oughta told us someone else was going to be coming."

Ian patiently sat through this, trying not to laugh at Alex's serious demeanor.

"I didn't know he was," Ian answered. "He dropped by to talk to me, and I didn't think you'd mind if I invited him in."

"Well, that's okay," came Dovie's voice, and she entered looking just as sleepy as Alex, although slightly more put-together. She slept with her hair in a braid, and it was still pulled neatly back. "But who is he?"

"You know, sis, that's quite a long story."

"Uh-huh," she answered, fixing him with that _look_, that sisterly look that managed to convey how quickly he'd better get to the point and how successful his attempts to charm her would be. (The answers were, pretty damn fast and not at all, respectively.)

"I guess he's my boyfriend," Ian settled for.

Alex choked on his coffee so hard that some of it landed on the floor, and Gray's jerky movement of shock left him with half a torn newspaper in each fist. Dovie herself just narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms.

"I take jokes better when I've had coffee. As you can see, I ain't had any yet. Who is he?"

"I just told you," Ian said firmly. But by god, this was weird, wasn't it? He wondered if Gray was glad to know what Ian thought, or just pissed off that Ian was saying it without talking to him first.

Dovie's response was to go the sink and get a rag to mop up the floor, since Alex was too busy trying to breathe. When she stood up and turned around, there was a smile on her face, and she held out her hand to Gray.

"Then it's real nice to meet you, honey. I'm Dovie, but please don't judge me by him. I'm the kind-hearted and tactful one."

Gray didn't take her hand. "You aren't upset?"

"Not yet," she said cheerfully. "Why should I be?"

"Well, Ian's been straight until about thirty seconds ago, for one thing," Gray said, cutting his eyes to Ian and letting him know that he _was_ pissed off. Oops. "And then there's the fact that I used to be the sex slave of this guy who pumped me full of drugs, until Ian came along and ruined his budding career to rescue me. It really isn't that nice to meet me."

Dovie took that all in, her only movement some rapid blinking, trying to decide if he was serious or not.

"Well," she said finally, and she looked at Ian. "The gossip back home said you were spurned by some girl, but I never believed it. I just didn't think it suited your character to cut ties with Daddy over some failed romance."

"I dropped out of school to take care of him, and Daddy's just mad that I wouldn't go back when he said I should. Course," he added in a lazy drawl, eyes on Gray, "now Gray's mad at me for the same reason."

"Right _now_ I'm mad at you for telling your sister I'm your boyfriend without telling me," Gray snapped. "Once I get finished being mad about that, _then_ I'll go back to being mad that you won't go back to school. You're lucky I'm too tired to kick your ass, because I know you haven't been practicing and I have."

Alex was staring at all of them in turn, and finally he just made a scoffing noise and poured himself a new cup of coffee to replace the one he'd spilled. "This is the weirdest dream I've ever had," he mumbled. "When I wake up and tell Dovie about this, she's gonna laugh until her sides are sore."

"You're not having a dream, babe," Dovie told him, a smile beginning to quirk her mouth. "I hate to disappoint you, but my brother really is in our kitchen, introducing his boyfriend. And doing an awfully bad job of it, too. I still didn't get your name, honey."

"It's Gray," he said.

"Like your eyes? That's cute!" Dovie said enthusiastically. "Your parents must have—"

"My parents can go fuck themselves, whoever they are," Gray said. "It's for my eyes, but Ian's the one who named me. I didn't have a real name until then."

So obviously he wanted to get everything out right up front. He was trying to shock Dovie, get her to judge him poorly. Then he'd have an excuse to extricate himself from Ian's life and put an end to the guilt complex he had about being in it. Well, he didn't know Dovie.

"O-oh," Dovie stuttered. "Well, Ian's no fool and he wouldn't be with you if you weren't a great guy," she said firmly. "Now, I can see there's a long and fascinating story just waiting to be told here, but I think it's one that would go down better with some breakfast. You boys hungry?"

In the middle of being surprised that Dovie didn't think he was a fool, Ian managed to smirk at Gray's shocked expression.

"Babe?" Dovie questioned Alex, her voice going softer and obviously asking about more than just food.

"Yeah, sure," Alex sighed. "I'll get the griddle down for you." He did just that, getting up on his tiptoes to reach the cupboard above the refrigerator. That was a dumb place to keep the cooking implements for the shortest woman alive. Ian had not lost his determination to find things wrong with Alex in general, since he couldn't _actually_ be friends with the boy who'd romanced his sister. But his traitorous brain demanded that he acknowledge the kind of guy Alex was, to put up with all this in his house and not say a word.

"Pancakes all right with everybody?" Dovie queried, already digging in the cupboard for ingredients.

"I . . . I don't understand," Gray said softly.

"You don't know what pancakes are?" Dovie gasped, whipping her head around.

"No, I just mean . . . you ought to be pretty angry right now. With Ian, for letting me into your house. And for wasting his time on me and everything. After what I just told you, about myself, you ought to be chasing me out of here. But you're cooking us breakfast, and I just don't understand that."

Dovie contemplated that for a moment. "You're the reason Ian dropped out of school?"

Gray ducked his head like he was awaiting punishment. "Yeah."

Ian was ready for action at the slightest sign that Dovie or Alex did anything to make Gray feel bad, but he didn't think it would happen, so he kept silent and watched it play out.

"So you've been with him for, what, three years?"

"Yes. I'm sorry you didn't know, I—"

"Three years is a long time, and it don't look to me like you're going anywhere," Dovie said. "That makes you family, in my book. I'm awfully interested to hear how y'all met, but you're in my kitchen and you're hungry. I don't allow family to go hungry in my kitchen."

With the firmness of conviction, she made her pancakes from scratch using their mother's old recipe (with Alex's watchful eyes making sure she didn't hurt herself or burn down the kitchen) and set a plate down in front of each of the three men. Alex, equilibrium somewhat restored by the second cup of coffee, retrieved butter and syrup. While Dovie cooked, Ian talked.

"I'm telling the story, because if I let Gray tell it he'll try to make you think he did something wrong."

Gray glared at him. Dovie turned around, spatula in hand, to ask,

"If he wasn't your boyfriend until ten minutes ago, then what was he before?"

Ian could feel himself starting to turn red. "Ah, listen. This is when it's going to start sounding creepy and making me look like a pedophile . . ."

"It doesn't either!" Gray burst out. "As far as I can tell, the first time you ever thought about me that way was half an hour ago on the front porch."

Alex raised an eyebrow at them. "How old are you, Gray?"

"Just turned eighteen," he muttered, then crossed his arms. "Which does _not_ make Ian a pedophile. I've met a lot of pedophiles, so I ought to know."

"So you were, what, fifteen when you met Ian?"

"I just said I was gonna tell the story!" Ian snapped, irritable at having himself upstaged by Alex.

"You might tell them about us meeting, but were you going to tell them where I grew up?"

Ian sighed. "Yeah, I was. It's like Dovie said: you're family. Might as well have it all out in the open."

Gray didn't interrupt again as Ian recounted the tale. He did it in the order he knew it best, beginning with meeting Lars Castle and his silent pet boy, talking about escaping the club and going to the police and having one of Daddy's lawyers come sort it all out. Only then did he move into Gray's past, since that was the point in the story in which Ian had started learning about it. Then he moved forward again with the explanation of their activities over the past few years.

"We're mostly normal, now," he finished with a shrug. "Work a lot of early mornings at the bakery and go to our judo studio a lot. I try to convince him to do normal teenager stuff, you know, play video games and bum cigarettes off people, but he's not much interested in that."

"I don't spend a lot of time around other people my age," Gray said with a bitter smile. "We don't usually get along."

"Well, I can see why," Dovie said. By now, she'd set the cooking dishes to soak in the sink and had joined them at the table with her own plate. Her comment made Gray stiffen up again, right when he'd finally started to relax over not being chased out yet. "Most kids your age haven't been through hardship like that and they would never understand why you value certain things. I'd be impatient with them, too."

Gray was astonished. Because Dovie was assuming that Gray was rejecting their company rather than the other way around, most likely. Or maybe just that she had characterized a lifetime of nonconsensual sex and drug abuse as "hardship." Either way, he had his jaw hanging open.

"You'd better close that before flies get in," Dovie told him in a mild tone.

Gray turned to Ian, still looking confused and, inexplicably, ashamed of himself. Ian couldn't help rising from his seat to put an arm around Gray, like he'd done outside, and even spend a moment with his face nuzzled into Gray's hair. He thought he could get used to that.

"I told you, didn't I? Not everyone in the world is an idiot. Not everyone you meet is gonna treat you like dog crap on the bottom of their shoe. And if I thought my sister was someone who would, I sure as hell wouldn't have come all the way out here a couple of years ago to help her out."

"And why is it, exactly, you couldn't tell me about Gray back then?" Dovie asked primly.

"Um," Gray mumbled. "I followed him out here, and I, um, well . . . Sorry."

"He freaked out a little bit," Ian said, trying to downplay it. He'd been honestly frightened that Gray would actually hurt someone, whether it be Dovie or himself, at that time. "He was worried I wasn't going to come back, and he came out here threatening to get rid of you so I'd come home."

Gray buried his face into Ian's shirt to hide his embarrassment. "I wasn't . . . well, I'm still sorta crazy, I guess, but I was worse then."

Ian would be surprised if they'd understood a word of that, muffled as it was into his chest. "He was still fighting through the drug problem, and he hadn't quite figured out yet that he wasn't my toy. He was pretty insecure back then. Although this is new," he said, patting Gray's back and trying to think when Gray had magically transformed into a barnacle. "Usually when he's insecure he gets into a mood and hollers and hits me."

Gray suddenly shoved away from him. "I still could, you know," he said, those startlingly gray eyes flashing. "I just thought you'd appreciate something different, since I'm supposed to be your _boyfriend_ now."

"Well, hell," Ian sighed. "You were the one who was out there trying to smell me. You're not a kid anymore, if you ever really were, and I don't want you to strike out on your own because I'd miss you too much. I'd try to call it brotherhood, but a few minutes ago I was thinking you're awfully good-looking, so that isn't too apt. If you don't want it to be that way, I sure don't blame you, not after what you've been through. But it might be about time we talked about what it is you _do_ want."

Alex and Dovie, wisely, rose from their seats and slipped out of the room. They weren't entirely clear on how Gray had come to be here this morning, but it seemed that perhaps Ian and Gray weren't entirely clear on that, either.

"Well, I . . . but you're _straight_. I mean, that trouble at the club _started_ over a girl."

"Who gives a shit?" Ian said roughly, not really sure how to answer this one. "I know I'm straight, but I'm keeping you with me any way I can. If you want me, then you can have me. If you don't, then that's okay, too. Don't bother me either way."

Gray scoffed. "I've been telling you for three years, I don't even know _how_ to want. It just goes to show you how much those people fucked me up that I— that having sex would make more sense to me than whatever it is we do."

"What exactly are you saying, Gray?" Ian asked, trying not to let his impatience show. He'd had a lot of practice with that over the past few years.

"I'm saying we'd better not have a physical relationship, at least for right now. I think we better hold off on that until I feel better about what we already have. Because I honestly don't know if I genuinely want you or if it's just force of habit."

"That sounds pretty wise. And I'm not arguing with you. But I do want to say that it could be a long time before you feel sure of yourself. I mean, maybe you never will figure this out. You've got so much baggage when it comes to this stuff that—"

"I know that," Gray interrupted him, but quietly. "That's why I think I'm ready to try talking to a therapist again."

Ian was so surprised that he swallowed the remainder of his coffee in one painful gulp. "God, Gray. Do you remember the last time we tried that? You're lucky I was in the waiting room, because otherwise you'd have been facing assault charges."

"I remember," Gray answered grimly. "Cut me a break, though, I was fifteen and I was still locking myself into my room at night to try to keep myself from going looking for a fix. I was able to convince myself that if the door was locked, it meant I couldn't leave."

"I didn't know you did that," Ian said compassionately, reaching out to touch him and feeling both surprised and a little hurt that Gray pulled away.

"I still do, sometimes. I would have come to you when it got bad, but you made it pretty clear you weren't comfortable with that."

Ian winced. "I'm sorry. But if I'd known why you needed that, I would have let you stay in my room. You should have said . . ."

"Should have, if I'd been able to reason it out. But I was fifteen, and I was still locking myself into my room at night . . ." he repeated with a bitter smile.

Ian's hand closed over Gray's arm. The marks were no longer there, but the ghosts of them were clearly visible to the both of them. "Listen to me. I don't care if I'm comfortable, uncomfortable, asleep, mortally ill, or anything else. You ever feel like that, you come find me. That ain't something you should be dealing with on your own."

"I've been doing it for a few years already."

"And that's a testament to your strength of character, it really is," Ian said, feeling maybe just a hint of sarcasm creep into his voice. "But I didn't ask how you've dealt with it in the past. I told you how you're gonna deal with it from now on. How am I supposed to be helping you if you don't let me?"

Gray looked down at Ian's hand on his arm, and he closed his eyes as if in pain. "I still don't know why you do this for me," he whispered. "There's nothing I can give you in return."

Ian's hand convulsed, tightening his grip. "I didn't ask you for anything in return. But that's partly what I came out here to figure out, you know."

"Yeah? What'd you come up with?"

"That I don't like picturing where I'd be if you weren't in my life. I'd be a hotshot lawyer by now and I'd be a heavy drinker and I'd have some blonde airhead trophy wife that my father found for me. I'd probably even think I was happy that way. It was when I met you that I figured out what I really want in this life. It's just to look out for the people I love. Making you safe, making you happy—that's how I know who I am. I wouldn't be _me_ without you. I'm not trying to feed you some kinda melodramatic gay soap opera line, here. Seeing you getting better is what makes my life worth it."

Gray was crying. Ian held him with no qualms.

"You don't wanna call us boyfriends, then we won't. I don't have a label for how I feel, anyway."

"Thank you," Gray wept. "I just need time, okay?"

"I know. That's fine. I've got all the time in the world for you, Gray Eyes."

"Ian, I . . ."

"You don't have to say anything back, either. Why don't you just take a minute to put yourself together, here, and I'll go break the news to Dovie that you're not really my boyfriend." Ian forced himself to smirk and ruffle the younger man's hair. He felt like the biggest idiot alive right now, but that was how he always felt after emotional talk. And it had been necessary to do it, so he just had to suck it up and deal with feeling like an idiot.

He found both his sister and her husband in the living room, curled up together in the armchair so as not to invade the bed they'd granted him on the sofa. Feeling absurdly guilty for not having put it away already, Ian quickly started folding blankets, realizing he didn't know how to broach this subject with them. Not twice in one morning. The first time he'd felt sure of himself but this time he just felt stupid. Maybe he just wouldn't say anything. It wasn't like he was required to explain himself, he'd spent three years perfecting the art of not explaining himself.

"You seem a little keyed up," Dovie said observantly, and Ian fought his desire to strangle her for being inane. Well, Alex wouldn't let him do that, anyway. "I take it he doesn't want to be your boyfriend?"

"Not right now," Ian ground out, after a moment of trying to figure out how to say it. It had been such an easy conversation when it was with Gray. Conversation was always easy with Gray, and that was the appeal—being understood so perfectly and understanding them back was an incredible feeling. After three years, in fact, conversation spoken aloud was mostly optional. "He's just . . ."

"Young, damaged, and vulnerable?" Alex suggested, sounding almost perky. Dovie tried to shush him by putting her hand over his mouth, but he fought free to say, "Be careful, man."

"Careful," he repeated in a tone that was meant to let Alex know he was pushing the boundaries.

"Yep," Dovie confirmed. "If you hurt him, I'll kill you."

"Me?" Ian yelped. "What's with all this defending _him_? I'm your brother!"

"Exactly. I know where you sleep," she said ominously. Then she uncurled herself from the human knot that she and her husband had made themselves into so she could walk right past Ian. He looked and found Gray, slightly stunned, in the doorway. Dovie had gone past him so she could pull Gray into a hug. "He's an awful grouch, you know. Almost a monster. But you don't have to take it from him, hear? You just let me know when he needs a good hiding."

It would have been sweet and touching, if not for the way Gray spasmed in her embrace and backpedaled to get away from her. Then he went a furious red and looked like he was about to lash out. Ian leaped forward and clamped his hand over Gray's mouth.

"No," he said. "We're working on this, the two of us. No more blowing up when we're embarrassed."

"Sorry," Gray answered, his breath hot against Ian's hand. He pulled away, deflated. He looked at Dovie. "Sorry. I just . . . I don't . . . Judo's okay because we're trying to hurt each other, but most of the time— And it's okay when it's Ian, but I . . ."

Dovie nodded in serene understanding. "You don't like to be touched. I get it." Ian was flooded with gratefulness once again that his sister, against all odds, was such a sweetheart. Well, until she reached out and touched Gray again, placing her hand over his arm. He stood completely still and stiff. "But that's something we gotta work on. I just couldn't stand it if I couldn't hug a member of my own family whenever I wanted to."

Gray looked like he was on the verge of tears again, or possibly on the verge of punching her in the head and running away. Instead, he forced himself to put his own hand over hers. "I'll try," he offered, giving her a weak smile.

"Well, all right, then," she said, far more cheerfully than him. Well, Dovie was practically cheerful as a profession, so she was far more cheerful than everyone. "You must have been travelling all night, to get here so early this morning. Would you like to rest a little while?"

Gray was about to be stubborn, but Ian wasn't going to let him.

"Sounds like a great idea to me," he declared. "You go on, Gray, I'll find you after I finish the paper and get a shower."

He clearly still wanted to argue, but Ian was already pulling the bed back out and tossing a pillow in his face. Alex and Ian adjourned to the kitchen again while Dovie was quizzing Gray relentlessly to see if he needed anything and if he was comfortable. They started to clean up breakfast in silence, and both laughed when they heard Dovie declare that just because he hadn't eaten much this morning did _not_ mean he could get away with wasting away in her house. Ian shot Alex a proprietary glare for laughing.

"He doesn't seem like a bad kid," Alex offered, handing him the plates he'd scraped clean.

"He's not a kid at all."

"You know what I mean," Alex said sourly. "Work with me, here."

Ian just scowled.

"Aw, you're just feeling insecure," Alex tried for a joke. "You still intimidate me, even if you are gay."

"Is that an invitation to smash your face in?"

"Fine," Alex sighed. "If you enjoy being uncomfortable so much . . . I gotta get ready for class, anyway. Dee!" he called out. "Leave that poor kid alone and let him sleep! You're gonna be late for work!"

"Oh, no! Why didn't anyone tell me what time it was?" Dovie wailed, charging into the kitchen and stopping in surprise at how clean it was. "Oh. Thanks, boys."

"You're welcome. Now go get ready!" Alex scolded her. She ran for their room, and Ian shook his head as he popped the last of the dishes into the washer.

"Some things never change."

"Ah, she's better than she used to be."

A few minutes later, the couple were grabbing purses and keys and last-minute items to get out the door. Ian was seated at the table with the newspaper again, finding it easier to read than to think right now.

"Hey," he said when they were about to step out the door. "Thanks, you two. For . . ."

"I love you, brother," was Dovie's response, dropping a quick kiss on his cheek. "I'll see you later."

Alex gave him a doubtful look. "Don't destroy the house or anything, okay?"

"Haven't yet, have I?" Ian grunted.

"Yeah, but I get the feeling that if you two get in a fight, there'll be property damage."

"We'll take it outside," Ian said with a sharp grin. Man, it would feel good to have a little match later, he and Gray hadn't faced each other in weeks.

"They'll be fine," Dovie declared. "Now let's go, we're late!"

They made it out the door in a flurry of conversation, dangling coat sleeves, and rattling car keys. When the door slammed and the car started up, Ian let out a deep sigh.

"Finally!" Gray called sleepily from the other room. "Your sister's great and all, Ian, but she's really loud!"

Ian chuckled and abandoned his paper to wander into the living room. Gray had pulled a pillow over his head but he removed it when he heard Ian come in. It made his hair especially wild.

"It is pretty hard to sleep when she's talking," Ian agreed. Then he yawned. "Haven't been sleeping much either way," he admitted.

Gray just smiled a little and laid his head back down to sleep. After a moment's indecision, Ian flopped down next to him. They both sighed deeply, and then fell asleep side by side.

* * *

"Hey, Karen!"

"Hi, Averil!"

"Dovie, come here," Sasha hissed, dragging the other girl forward. "Averil's here, I think he's going to ask her."

Averil was sitting down beside Karen on the wall as Dovie eagerly joined Sasha to listen in.

"How are you today?"

"I feel good. There's not much fog today, and my breathing is much better."

"Mine, too. I'm sorry, Karen, I can't stay long today, because I have to go to my new job."

"That's okay. Mother is picking me up right away. I have another recital next week, and she wants me to practice as much as possible."

"Do you like playing the piano, Karen?" Sasha and Dovie were not exactly hiding, but not exactly making their presence known, either. They both crept forward a little more and held their breath with anticipation.

"Yes."

"Really like it?" Averil pressed her. "Or do you like doing it because it makes your mother happy?"

"I don't think it makes her happy," Karen said thoughtfully. "Mother never seems very happy. She always frowns, like this." The little girl illustrated by using her hands to pull the skin of her face tight and strained, and she scowled at Averil. The teen couldn't help but laugh, but then he sighed and put his hand in her hair.

"I worry that you're working too hard, that's all," he said. "Your mother ought to be proud of how hard you try to do well."

"That's right," Dovie whispered with conviction.

"She is," Karen said insistently. "She's proud, and she smiles a lot at my recitals when people say how good I am."

"She isn't very nice to you, though, is she?" Karen drummed her heels against the wall and shrugged. "She's strict, but she has to do that. I have to eat certain things and be careful of my health, you know. Some people think it doesn't really help, but Mother thinks it does, and I want her to be happy. And I have to practice a lot so I can do well on the piano."

"She doesn't ever hug you or say nice things to you," Averil said, just as insistent as Karen. "Does she even say your name?"

Karen shrugged again, and turned her eyes down. She was so entirely forlorn that Dovie took a step forward and had to be restrained by Sasha.

"Well, if she won't, I will," Averil declared, pulling Karen to his side and putting his arm around her. Karen leaned her head on him and relaxed, instantly seeming happier. She'd reacted nervously to such gestures at first, but she'd warmed up to Averil quite a bit.

All too soon, he let her go and stood up. "I don't want your mom to see me, and I have to go to work anyway. Bye, Karen."

"Averil? Do you like Miss Yvonne?"

"Uh, I guess."

"She came over to the school one day and brought us a treat and told us what her shop was like. She was nice to us, but I think she's strange."

"She's _very_ strange," Averil laughed. "But I don't mind, I needed a job and she gave me one."

"What do you need a job for?"

"To make money, of course."

Karen frowned. "I don't understand money."

"I'll tell you about that another time, or Miss Dovie could explain it to you. I gotta go, Karen. See you."

"Bye, Averil."

Karen's mother came around the corner just as soon as Averil had walked through the wrought-iron door of the antique shop, so Dovie had no opportunity to go to Karen and try to press her for more information. They watched the girl get in the car, then headed back inside to help Oscar with the last of the kids.

"She can't actually get in trouble for being mean, can she?" Dovie fretted.

"I'm afraid not," Sasha replied. "I hate the way she treats Karen, but she's actually very responsible about her welfare. Karen's being fed and clothed and her talents are being nurtured . . . If she's not actually hurting her or neglecting her physically, then there's really nothing we can do."

"I guess we just have to let Averil try, then," Dovie sighed, close to tears.

"Hey, don't worry so much," Sasha said, giving her a quick hug. "Averil seems like a nice kid, I think he'll be able to help."

"I just wish I knew what he's doing here," Dovie said, her worries forgotten as her indignation over being left out of the gossip took over. "I've chatted with Mr. Williams a few times, and he never mentioned having another kid move in. He's such a gossip! He ought to have said something about it!"

"Maybe Averil's got a bad history," Sasha said. "Mr. Williams doesn't seem like the type of man who'd spread around things that would embarrass anyone."

"Maybe," Dovie sighed. "But Averil's so polite and responsible. It seems hard to believe he's done anything embarrassing, doesn't it?"

Sasha just patted her shoulder. "You'll have to save thinking of it for another time, your husband will be here any minute, and you've got to get home and make dinner."

"I do?"

"Didn't you say that your friends Claire and Matt were coming over tonight?" Dovie's face drained of colour, and Sasha became concerned. She almost called Oscar over.

"I forgot that was tonight," Dovie gasped out. "I don't have anything ready."

"You'd better run, then," Sasha urged.

"You don't understand. I have, well, there's an _unusual_ houseguest."

"You mean Ian's still there? Wow, isn't he ever going home?"

"No, I mean another one. Ian's, um, his friend. His very special friend."

"You can say boyfriend, I won't have a heart attack or anything. This _is_ San Francisco," Sasha added dryly.

Dovie made a face and smacked her on the arm. Most people did not do that to their boss, but Sasha had practically adopted Dovie a few years ago and they were too close to think of themselves in employment terms.

"Well, it's a long story, but the long and short of it is that they're not dating, at least not right now. Remember I told you that Ian dropped out of school a few years ago?"

Sasha nodded agreeably.

"Turns out it was because he met this homeless teenager and decided to take him in. He's been taking care of him. And now Gray's an adult, but it doesn't look like he's planning to move away to college, if you see what I mean."

"And he's at your house?"

"He got worried when Ian didn't come home. I guess they had some kind of fight. I think they're working things out. Which is great and all, but . . ." Dovie's eyes were wide and frightened. "I can't introduce them to _Claire_."

"You could cancel dinner. Or kick them out for the night."

"I am _Southern_, Sasha. I was _born_ to be a perfect hostess on every occasion. I can't cancel or kick them out. I have no choice. Oh, god, those poor boys. Claire isn't going to be able to help herself."

"Oh, there's Alex," Sasha said, waving at him. "Good luck," she added with a grin as Dovie ran into Alex's arms wailing about the disastrous night ahead of them.

"What are you smiling about?" her husband asked, coming up beside her.

"We have a really normal, boring sort of life, don't we?" she asked.

"Uh . . . Sorry?"

Sasha leaned her head on his shoulder for a moment and smiled up at him. "I was just thinking how nice it was that we do. I don't think I could handle an exciting life."

Oscar chuckled and gave her a little tug. "Come on. Wait until you see what Thomas did to Naveen's shoes."

* * *

Gray slept most of the day. He had hardly slept since Ian took off, and it was true that he'd travelled all night to get here. The pull-out sofa bed wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world, and his naturally nervous disposition wasn't being helped by the unfamiliarity of the place and people . . . but Ian stretched out right beside him, breathing deep and rhythmic, was incredibly soothing. He woke up once to use the bathroom and to snag a piece of fruit out of a basket on the kitchen counter, then he went straight back to sleep.

He had an ability to sleep for stretches that made Ian worry he'd never wake up, but apparently that was the one thing he did that marked him as a normal teenager. Well, that and his lack of control over his temper. But he was getting better about that, at least he thought so. But since he'd never been a normal child, it only made sense that he couldn't be a normal youth, either.

It wasn't even the sex and drugs that had done it, at least Gray didn't think so. It was just how hard he had to work to do anything. He put twice as much effort into the simplest things as anyone else. Having to be so focused and so responsible just to get a driver's license or to learn basic math had made it impossible for him to act like a flaky teenager. He'd recognized that being able to recite Shakespeare's sonnets or quote Byron at length wasn't going to get him anything in life except maybe another situation like he'd had with Lars Castle. He had to make himself useful, and he'd worn himself out with trying.

So he was older than his age made him out to be, he decided. He came to that conclusion while staring at the ceiling with his hands laced together under his head. Ian had gotten up from his nap and gone off somewhere, but Gray thought he was still in the house somewhere. If Gray wanted to be an adult, then he needed to act more like he was one.

So no more of this insecurity bullshit. He knew exactly how important he was to Ian, so he was going to stop thinking that Ian might leave him. And he needed to remember that he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself now, anyway. No more being a burden on him. Gray was going to try harder, to put in a full half of the effort in their household. He was going to find a better job, and . . .

"Who am I kidding?" he whispered. "No one would hire me, anyway." He didn't raise his hand to wipe at his wet eyes, because while he was on the topic of being more adult, adults didn't start crying just because life seemed hopeless. Or maybe they did, but Gray wasn't going to.

"You awake?" That drawling voice, when Ian really allowed his roots to show, was Gray's favourite thing to hear.

"Yeah."

"You're thinking about a job?"

Damn, he'd heard.

"Can't stay at Brian's bakery forever," Gray said flippantly, sitting up. "Even if it is all I'm good for."

Ian's hand caught him in the process of standing up. "You know I hate it when you talk like that."

"Even if it's true?" Gray asked bitterly. He was well aware that he had no marketable skills.

"You are intelligent, Gray, even if you don't think you are. And you know how to work your ass off to get what you want. You can find a job you like. Or . . ."

"Or what?"

"Gray, you could go to college."

He snarled and yanked himself away from Ian's clinging grip. "Yeah, right."

"I'm serious."

"You remember what studying for my GED was like?"

"I remember. It sucked. But it got easier toward the end, didn't it?"

"I guess. I thought it was because I'd finally learned something."

"That, and studying gets easier the more you're in practice."

"It does?"

Ian was smiling. "You think I'm just so fucking brilliant that I could breeze right through law school without trying? There's a reason I dropped out. I literally could not help you and do school at the same time, just because it takes up so much time. It's supposed to be hard like that. It's hard for everybody, Gray, not just you."

"I really don't think I can get into Yale, Ian."

"I wasn't talking about Yale. I was talking about enrolling for a semester of community college and seeing how it goes."

Gray was dumbfounded, but he didn't argue. If Ian thought he could handle community college, then he probably could. Ian might push him hard, but his expectations had never been unrealistic.

"I'll think about it," he finally responded. "But what about you?"

"What about me?"

"You can't work at the bakery forever, either."

Ian shrugged. "Yale ain't taking me back, you know. Not after so long."

"But you could finish your degree somewhere else."

"I don't think I really want to be a lawyer, Gray. I was only doing it because I was supposed to be a carbon copy of my father. It's not what I'm really interested in."

"So what are you interested in?"

"I don't know yet. I know I like being able to look after my loved ones, but that's as far as I've gotten."

"You could become a teacher," Gray shrugged.

Ian barked out a disbelieving laugh. "A teacher, Gray Eyes? Me?"

Gray hunched his shoulders, feeling stupid now, even if he was right. "You were a really good teacher for me," he defended himself.

"That's because I care about you. I don't think I could do it for a bunch of snot-nosed out-of-control brats."

"Maybe you could do something with . . . With other kids who were like me. You know, kids who need extra help. They might need someone who will be hard on them and make them work. You know, someone who's going to believe in them."

Ian looked stunned. "Never thought of that. Huh."

"You're an intimidating guy," Gray said, grinning now. "You could scare anybody into success."

Ian actually seemed to be thinking about it, which was pretty amazing considering that Gray had only just now thought of this idea and it had flown out of his mouth before he could stop it. But it turned out that Ian was thinking of something else.

"Why does this matter so much to you?"

Aaaaand . . . he'd been caught. Well, he should have expected it. Ian was nothing if not a sharp guy. But he found himself looking away and trying to close down his face to show no expression. He'd been good at that, once upon a time. Unfortunately, Ian knew him too well.

"Gray?" Sharp in many ways. He winced when he heard that razor-edged voice.

"Look. Brian might not blame you that he got black-listed, but that's because he _likes_ having a bakery. Some of the other guys who were friends with you resent it a lot. You were supposed to be their leader, and when you went down, you took them with you. And now they think you're . . ."

"What, Gray? They think I'm what?"

"They think you're a joke!" he burst out. "You bounce around from one job to another and you're not going anywhere in life, at least not the way they think. And you spend all your time looking after me and your little sister, and they think that you're just a pathetic nobody now!"

"I _am_ nobody," Ian drawled.

And _sometimes_, Gray _hated_ that drawl.

"You're _not_!" he shouted, and then all his resolve to act like an adult, and all the promises he'd made to work on his temper, disappeared. He launched himself forward and started making every effort to wrestle Ian to the ground and choke him to death. "It's your own fault they've turned on you! It wasn't my fault!"

"When did I say it was?" Ian shouted right back, blocking Gray's kick with his arm and trying to catch hold of him to throw Gray over his shoulder.

"You were such a selfish bastard before! You had all those people hanging all over you, and you didn't care that you were messing with their lives! And you didn't save me just because I needed you! I'm not _stupid_, even if I _am_ brain-damaged! You only took me because you wanted to piss off Al Bolton! I know that's the real reason!"

Ian suddenly faltered, and he went down under Gray, who straddled him and held him pinned on the ground, his eyes flashing with passion. "I wanted to help you, Gray Eyes," he said, his voice sounding impossibly hurt—and knowing he'd hurt Ian's feelings made Gray think for a moment Ian had gotten an arm free and sucker-punched him.

"I believe you," he said more quietly. "At least, I believe you made up your mind in that hotel, that first night. But you took me because you were spoiled and not thinking about the consequences. I know who you are now, and you're not the same guy that you used to be. But me and Brian, we're the only ones who know that. Everyone else thinks you're a joke, Ian. And you're not. You're not, and I hate it. I hate people thinking less of you because you changed."

"It's not your fault," Ian said.

"It doesn't matter!" he said bitterly, knowing that it was half his fault and half Dovie's, and knowing that the fact Ian didn't blame them was the greatest sign of his transformation. "Just . . . I won't let anyone think of you like that. If you won't prove them wrong, I'm going to have to beat it out of them."

"I believe you could," Ian chuckled. Gray hadn't realized how much he'd relaxed his hold on Ian, because suddenly the bigger man bucked his body and sent Gray tumbling off him. He didn't retaliate and pin him down or anything. He stood up.

"If you promise to think about school, I'll promise to think about your ludicrous image of me as a teacher."

So. That was it. Gray had gotten it off his chest, and Ian had heard him, and that was as far as it was going right now. He didn't believe that Gray would really think about school, so he was basically saying he had no plans to become a teacher. Well, fine. It wasn't the first time they'd butted heads like this, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Time to move on.

"All right," Gray agreed lazily, getting up. "I'd better take a shower before your sister and her husband get home, by the way. I'm gross."

"You are, a little," Ian agreed. "I'm gonna put the bed away. Did you bring anything with you?"

"Uh, not exactly . . ."

"Idiot," he said affectionately. "I have a bag of clothes and stuff in the bathroom. Go ahead."

Gray did so. Ian was a lot bigger than him, so he retained his own jeans but he did borrow a clean t-shirt and boxers. He had never been very good at thinking of things like maybe he should pack a bag if he was leaving town. He'd never had anything of his own until recently, and it had only been since living with Ian that he'd had to do anything for himself at all. Being someone's pet was awful in innumerable ways, but he _had_ been rather pampered.

"So, what, you _miss_ that life?" he scolded himself. No. He didn't, not at all, and even if he was crazy enough to miss things about the lifestyle he'd never want it back if he couldn't have Ian. The way things were now was hard, certainly, but they were better that way. Give it another couple of years, and he might even know who he was and what he wanted out of life.

* * *

_**A/N:** So, my roommate is fostering five cats who are waiting for adoption. Meaning I am also fostering five cats. Well, kittens, really, they're only six months old, and they're all white with black spots and adorable as hell. We already knew the name of one of them, it's Bear. And roommate named the lazy one Fat Louie. I named the others, and I have decided that I am the god of naming things, because my names are the best. The girl is Minerva McGonagall, a.k.a. Mac. The one who has a really skinny face and facial markings that look like he's crying black tears is Harlequin, a.k.a. Harley. The one with the weirdest spots is Rorschach, a.k.a. Rory. There, see? Fucking awesome names._

_Oh, yeah. Thanks for the reviews, guys. You really make my day, when I'm not busy cuddling my new kitties.  
_


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

_February 16th_

"I'm so sorry we're late," Claire said, coming inside and sweeping back her long hair so she could hug Dovie. "It's been a very long day."

"It's okay, honey, I'm just glad you got here," Dovie said, returning the hug with enthusiasm.

Matt followed her, looking sober-faced. He and Alex engaged in the male version of the greeting, shaking hands and gruffly declaring that it was good to see one another again. They didn't actually know one another yet, having only met on campus a time or two.

"You guys remember you met my brother Ian a few weeks ago?" Dovie queried as she ushered them inside and took their coats.

"Ooo, I remember _him_," Claire said in approval, but it only made Matt roll his eyes.

"Well, he and his friend Gray are here tonight, too**—**they're in the kitchen putting a few finishing touches on things for me. Come on into the living room and have a seat. You two look like you need to relax in the worst way. You said you were running late because of an emergency? Is everything all right?"

"Someone we know is in the hospital," Claire said, gratefully taking a seat beside Matt on the loveseat, leaving the sofa/Ian's bed for Alex and Dovie. Dovie didn't sit on it, electing to hover in the doorway between this room and the kitchen, ready to get drinks but not willing to leave while Claire was talking.

"Oh, no!" Dovie gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "What happened?"

Claire's eyes filled with tears, so Matt took her hand in his and answered. "You remember my buddy Caleb?" he asked Alex. "The guy I study with?"

Ian had appeared in the doorway behind Dovie now. "He wreck his bike or something?"

Matt shook his head. "No, not him. His roommate, Finn. I guess they were walking home from somewhere last night and got mugged. Finn was shot."

Dovie's other hand went up and covered the first one, pressing them both tight over her mouth. "That's awful," she gasped from behind them.

"He almost didn't make it," Matt said soberly. "They only decided he was going to live a few hours ago. Caleb didn't come to class today, so I gave him a call to see what was up, and he called me back and told me he'd been at the hospital since last night. He's pretty shaken up by the whole thing, so we went by the hospital to see if we could help. Finn hasn't even regained consciousness yet, and Caleb barely noticed we were there."

"Does he have a family in town or anything?" Dovie asked.

"No, neither of them do," Claire spoke up. "I'm sure Lee will do his best to make Caleb go home and get some rest, but he's got worries of his own. That poor boy. His brother goes missing, then his girlfriend gets diagnosed with cancer, and now his roommate gets shot . . ."

"Are you guys still looking for his brother?"

"No, they know where he is, now. He just switched schools and took off without saying a word to them." Claire scowled. "I know he must have his reasons, but it was awful of him to do it that way. Those three guys have all been worried about him."

"At least they know where he is," Alex offered.

"Yeah, I'm sure that helps a little," Matt shrugged.

"I hope that Finn is going to be okay," Dovie said.

Claire teared up again, clutching at Matt's hand.

"She's really upset by this," Matt said to the room at large, sounding bewildered. "We don't even know this guy. I ran into him once at school when I was meeting Caleb, but I only talked to him for a minute."

"I just don't like it when people get hurt," Claire said, abruptly sitting up and dismissing her emotions with a little sniff. "But I'm sad for Caleb's sake." She dropped her voice into a conspiratorial tone. "Did you _see_ how upset he was? The way he wouldn't stop looking at him?"

"Oh, don't _go_ there," Matt groaned. "I know you're making a career out of other people's sex lives, and I'm trying to live with it, but _please_ don't go there."

"Go where?" she asked innocently.

"Caleb is not gay," Matt said firmly. "Finn practically has a rainbow tattooed on his ass, but Caleb is just . . . not," he finished weakly.

"How, exactly, do you make a career out of other people's sex lives?" piped up a new voice, and Gray's head appeared behind Ian's shoulder.

"Oh, there you are," Dovie said happily. "I was afraid Ian killed you or something."

"No, he was just trying to convince himself that you were telling the truth and you're not embarrassed to have him meet your friends," Ian said, taking a casual side-step that revealed more of Gray, whose face went red but firmly stood his ground.

"I was making sure the food didn't burn," he said defensively. "Dov—Dee, I mean—did you want me to open this bottle of wine?"

"Oh, I am being an _awful_ hostess," Dovie declared. "I'll get that, Gray, you go on in there and have a seat. You too, brother mine. Thanks for doing all this work, boys."

"No problem," Gray said, very reluctantly following Ian in and sitting down.

"I'm studying to become a therapist, to answer your question," Claire said to him. "I'm Claire Elda, and this handsome gentleman beside me is my one and only love."

"Otherwise known as Matt Decker," the man added, poking her.

"But that's boring."

"In that case, you can call her the light of my life," Matt said.

Ian and Gray were saved by Dovie re-entering the room carrying a tray that had a bottle of wine and a set of glasses on it.

"You two are so sweet, it makes the rest of us look bad," she scolded the other couple.

"Dee, you should have let me get that," Alex said, but only half-heartedly since they both knew Dovie would never have let him. "At least let me pour."

"All right," she said, relinquishing it to him. He gave a glass each to Matt and Claire, then gave Gray a bewildered look.

"Ah . . . I know you're underage. But can Ian give you permission? Or does that not work since you're eighteen now?"

"I have no idea," Gray said in surprise. "But don't worry about it. I don't drink, anyway."

"I'm good," Ian said, waving away the glass held out to him. "I don't drink anymore, either."

It was only inevitable that Claire's sharp eyes would catch that and start to gleam, but Dovie was on the lookout for it.

"Claire, I know you'd have a field day with these two, but one of them's my brother, so be nice. Besides, they already know. These two have built up enough sexual tension that it's started oozing out their ears."

"One day, Pigeon, I swear to God," Ian sighed, demonstrating a classic face-palm.

"Really. I saw them practice judo earlier. It's—"

"I have a theory about judo," Claire said with something akin to glee. "I mean, the entire sport revolves around trying to achieve a sexually dominant position—"

"Claire, honey," Matt attempted. "This is not good dinner conversation . . ."

"No, no, I'm interested," Alex said, with an evil chuckle that earned him an actual growl from Ian.

Claire might have stopped there, since Dovie was looking at her brother with distinct worry, but they were all surprised by the golden-haired younger man beside him.

"Are you a _good_ therapist?" Gray asked Claire, sitting forward with interest. "I mean, do you only talk about sex, or other stuff, too?"

Ian went pale and excused himself to find a non-alcoholic beverage. Dovie's eyes pleaded with Matt to rein Claire in, but it was already too late.

* * *

Caleb was trying to remember when he'd slept, but he was having trouble thinking. That was probably an indication that it had been a while. He took a moment to collect himself, standing up and stretching his legs. He'd spent too long sitting in that damn chair already. He looked to see if the noise he was making had caused any change, but Finn's eyes were still stubbornly closed.

Decker and his girl had come and gone an hour ago, at least. Lee had been here, but he'd gone to work. It had been almost a full day since the shooting, which made it nearly two days since he'd slept. That problem figured out, Caleb did nothing to solve it. He was going to be here until this blond retard made up his mind and either woke up or died.

There was a slight rustling noise, and he whirled around. Blue eyes peered up at him sleepily, and he waited silently for whatever was about to come.

"Good morning, Caleb," Finn said in an almost perky voice.

Caleb.

It seemed to echo around the room, bouncing off mysterious medical equipment and uncomfortable chairs.

Caleb.

He'd said Caleb. Not Hot Shot, not Tough Stuff, not Cal-baby, not Papa Bear.

Caleb.

So the little bastard didn't plan to forgive him for this. Well, he'd been prepared for that. Fine.

"Don't move too much," he said gruffly. "You'll start bleeding again."

He pivoted and walked out of the room, feeling angry with himself and with everything in general. Sitting up all night and all day, waiting and worrying, only to leave the moment Finn woke up? What was wrong with him?

Caleb.

After more than a year, he had stopped wondering if he'd ever hear the sound of his name from those lips. And now that he had, he didn't like it. It didn't sound right. The dumbass had to know that. Even in those first waking moments, in pain and drugged out, he'd wanted to piss Caleb off. Well, he'd done it. But if he thought that meant Caleb was _going_ somewhere, he could think again. He'd just have to put up with a pissed-off roommate.

He stopped at the nurse's station, which was fairly quiet considering this was the ICU. "Hey. He just woke up."

They didn't have to ask who he meant. After last night, everyone had been warned about Caleb. They'd tried to get rid of him, told him he wasn't a relative and couldn't stay, but that was total bullshit. The only reason there wasn't a doctor laid out on a bed next door to Finn, and Caleb hadn't been arrested, was because Lee had been there to cool things down.

There was a cop who'd been waiting to hear the news, too, and he joined the nurse headed for Finn's room. Caleb led the way for the little parade, back to the room. He needed to say something to Finn, and he decided he didn't care if doing it this way made him look weird to the nurse or the officer.

He bent down and put his mouth beside Finn's ear.

"You can talk. Lee told the cops he knew Seth."

"Is that so?" Finn murmured, and his eyes flicked to the other two people in the room. He twisted his face into a sly smile. "After I get home, then," he said to Caleb, using a sultry voice that was so clearly staged Caleb wondered why he'd bothered. Still, the nurse seemed taken aback by the exchange, so maybe Caleb was just better at reading the dumbass than he'd thought he was. "Has Lee been here?" he asked in a more normal tone, and it made Caleb wince, because his voice was so scratchy and full of pain.

"He was, but he's taking care of Sara right now. The other guys are both at work."

"Why aren't you at home helping out?" Finn asked, sounding angry, and tried to sit up. He immediately collapsed back onto the bed, gasping and losing the nearly-nonexistent colour in his face.

"Sara said I should stay here," he defended himself. He was absolutely not going to admit that he'd been planning to stay in any case. Sara didn't need him right now. Finn had needed him.

"Someone get me some clothes," Finn said in a feeble voice. "I have to go home."

"Absolutely not," the nurse said. "You've just lost a kidney, young man, and you're going to be taking it easy for quite some time."

"Oh," Finn said in surprise, pressing his hand over his injury. "Well, I guess that's why we have two of those," he shrugged. "I still want to go home."

The cop, who up till now had been silent, stepped forward. "You're not doing anything until I get a chance to talk to you."

Finn suddenly made a reflexive movement with his arms, one that Caleb noticed and interpreted in the worst possible way—and he knew he wasn't wrong, in light of the things Finn had said before the ambulance came—as a motion to be sure he wasn't handcuffed to the bed.

"Okay," he whispered, his eyes huge as he looked at the cop.

"Mr. Valeria, isn't it? Mind if I sit down?"

Finn didn't say a word. The cop sat.

"Did you by any chance contact my next of kin?" Finn whispered.

"No, Mr. Hawke there said he would do that. Mr. Hawke?"

"I took care of it," Caleb confirmed, feeling absolutely no guilt about the bald-faced lie. If Finn had a next of kin he'd wanted to be notified, he'd have mentioned it when he got shot.

"Wonderful. Then if you two would excuse us for a few minutes?"

Caleb did as the officer requested, but he didn't like it. Finn was not only in pain, he was frightened, and it didn't seem right to leave him alone like that. The nurse might be able to help with the pain, but she was stuck waiting until Finn had been interrogated. Caleb didn't know what he was so afraid of, anyway. If there was a warrant out for him or something, one of the cops would have said so.

Yesterday, maybe he could have asked, and maybe, just maybe, Finn would have answered.

Today, there was no way.

* * *

Officer Denton, whether anyone believed it or not, was actually a nice guy. Had a family, a couple of kids in college, all that. He didn't really _want_ to question this young man when he was so clearly uncomfortable. After all, the poor guy had just been shot.

Still, he had to do his job. Maybe this would go faster if he could calm the guy down a little.

"Well, Mr. Valeria, when you were thirteen and you were released from that correctional facility, the justice system hoped we'd seen the last of you," he quipped. "Now here you are, getting into trouble again."

That seemed to have done the trick. The young man visibly relaxed, and even closed his eyes in relief.

"It wasn't really my fault this time," he whispered.

"No? Why don't you tell me about that?"

* * *

_February 19__th_

They were beginning to develop a routine in regards to Sara. Which was funny, considering she only had about a week and a half left of the intensive treatment then the routine would no longer be necessary. Lee and Yuri would both make their sofas into clean and comfortable resting spaces for her (and Tom or Yuri would make sure her bed was ready), and they'd let her decide where to go. Tom (or Lee, if he wasn't available) would carry her upstairs because she was usually too sick and exhausted to navigate them on her own.

It was different when it was Finn.

Lee had no idea where Finn would want to rest and recuperate—in his own bed, in his room where it was quiet, or out in the living room where they would know if he needed anything**.** From what Lee had seen in his one quick visit to the hospital, pain was making Finn quiet and slightly grumpy, so maybe he'd want to be in his own room. He made sure there was some water in their filter pitcher and some basic finger foods ready, because Finn was taking antibiotics and you weren't supposed to have those on an empty stomach.

Then Lee told himself to stop being ridiculous and to sit still and get his homework done. Caleb had been acting weird the past few days, but that wasn't any reason for Lee to let it make him nervous. After all, Finn was still Finn, and he wouldn't exactly throw a tantrum if they didn't read his mind and have everything he wanted waiting on a silver platter. In fact, Finn was more the type to be genuinely surprised that Lee had thought of him at all**.**

He ended up not being able to help himself, and he kept sneaking into Finn and Caleb's room to peek out the window and see if they'd gotten home yet. He smirked at how excessively neat and tidy the place was, for a couple of college students. Still, that was Caleb for you, and Lee assumed he made Finn keep it clean. Feeling guilty for being in their room, he was nevertheless gratified to see the car finally pull in. He gave himself a moment to wonder how Caleb had squeezed himself into Finn's little car, but then he had to wonder how Finn folded himself into the thing, too. At least they were home.

Okay, so he was worried about Finn. But who wouldn't be, with how quiet he'd been and how gruff Caleb had been? Something was up.

Lee got even _more_ worried when they hadn't come inside after a couple of minutes. A final peek out their window revealed that they were no longer in the Beetle, so he could only think they were stuck on the stairs for some reason. He went out to see if they needed help.

He found them halfway up the stairs. Finn was clinging to the banister, forehead covered in sweat and face sort of gray, and Caleb was trailing behind him looking like he was on the verge of homicide.

"Hey, Finn," Lee said, after a momentary pause to take it all in. "Welcome home."

"Hello," Finn mumbled, sounding a little breathless.

"Dumbass says he doesn't need help," Caleb said, which made Finn scowl and focus even harder on the stairs.

Lee elected to say nothing, and keep all his body parts.

"Finn? Are you sure you should be home?" he finally said.

"This wouldn't be nearly as difficult if several of my ribs weren't broken," was Finn's answer.

"Yeah, because the gaping hole where your kidney used to be is no big deal," Caleb muttered.

Faced with the decision again, Lee went for the same option and kept his mouth shut. He remained unharmed.

Finn chose that moment to suddenly go limp and start to fall, and Lee leapt forward with a shout. Which was completely unnecessary, of course, since Caleb was right behind him. He put his hands out and caught Finn under his arms, drawing him in against his body to keep him upright. Finn was still semi-conscious and made an effort to keep his legs under him.

"Ow," he moaned.

Caleb scowled for a moment, then said, "To hell with it," and picked Finn up like he was a (rather fragile) sack of groceries and started up the stairs. Lee blinked in surprise, then scrambled to get out of the way. He knew Caleb was strong, but he hadn't realised he was _that_ strong. He kept Finn in a rather proprietary hold against his shoulder and hip all the way up to their apartment**—**which Finn was in too much pain to do anything about**—**and marched all the way inside and dumped him on the sofa.

"If you tell me you don't need help, I'm just going to ignore it from now on," he said.

Finn closed his eyes and leaned back, his hands pressed over his bandaged wound. "Whatever," he murmured. "I think I'm going to throw up now, okay?"

"Not okay!" Caleb spluttered, reaching out to help Finn up again. "Not on the couch!"

Finn waved his hand to make Caleb stop. "I'm not really going to. Just . . . leave me alone. It hurts."

"Fine. I'm going to go to the pharmacy and get your prescriptions filled."

"No, it's fine. I'll do it later. I just want to rest first." "Right," Caleb barked out a disbelieving laugh. "You're going to take those stairs again? I just said I would do it, so I'm going to do it."

Finn didn't even open his eyes. "Fine. Thank you, Caleb."

_Caleb_? Lee thought in shock. Man, what was going _on_ with these two? Caleb stormed back out at that, leaving Lee twitching anxiously in the middle of the room and wondering if Finn was going to bite his head off.

"Finn? Can I get you anything? Otter Pop?" he tried to joke.

Finn opened his eyes and managed a small smile. "No, Lee, I'll be okay. Thank you."

He opened his mouth to ask why Finn was so angry with Caleb, then thought the better of it, and said, "When he gets back, I'll make you something to eat so you can take the medicine. My turn to be Mommy, I guess," he laughed. "I'll handle it, Lee, don't worry about me."

Lee did not like this new version of Finn, who apparently had no sense of humour and who did not seem capable of the cheerful smile that was supposed to be his trademark. Sure, it wasn't exactly fun being shot, but Lee hadn't quite expected this. No wonder Caleb was upset.

Oh. It was Caleb. That was why.

Finn was punishing Caleb. Punishing them both, really, since Lee had been the one to call the ambulance. He hadn't wanted them to, and now he wanted to make them regret doing it.

_Well, I won't_, Lee decided stubbornly. _He can act like an asshole if he wants to, but he can't make me regret it_. Then he miserably retreated to his room, leaving Finn alone, wondering all the while what had made his roommate come to hate living so much.

* * *

"Yeah," Finn said with a little laugh, running his hand through his hair self-consciously. "Although they did shave part of my stomach," he added ruefully, moving his hand down to cover the bandage that peeped out from underneath his shirt. Caleb decided at that moment that he was actually going insane, since he was _glad_ Finn was still at least normal enough to wear shirts that didn't fit.

Sara laughed and told Finn it didn't count , and Caleb was glad about that, too. Finn was putting out at least a _little_ effort on Sara's behalf, even if it was just to joke about hair loss on hospital visits. He and Sara were both clearly worn out, and they'd even both thrown up earlier—although in Finn's case it was his own damn fault, because the dumbass knew he was supposed to eat before he took those pills and he said he wasn't hungry. Now they were just sitting on opposite ends of the couch and looking like shit together. Misery might love company, but sleep was the better man for it, so Caleb decided to be the voice of reason.

"Hey, Lee, you're not taking proper care of Sara," he said in a scolding tone. "You ought to take her home."

Not that she couldn't get there on her own, she was probably capable of managing the seven or eight feet between their front doors, but Lee treated it like a vast desert she needed to be escorted across. Caleb sympathized, since he had people of his own to look out for, and so he didn't give Lee crap about it. So long as Lee wasn't giving him crap about the fact that he was basically kicking Sara out so he could make Finn go to bed. And where was the comment about being Big Daddy, after that? Conspicuously absent, that's where.

Well, hell. Sharing a room was about to become a real joy, wasn't it? Finn would sit there in silence projecting hatred, and Caleb would ignore it and try to sleep, and the silence would be so thick with bullshit that it would be a wonder if they could breathe. Great. Just fucking great.

So a few minutes later, when the new and sullen version of Finn said, "I think I'm going to sleep out here," Caleb's first feeling was relief.

"Don't be an idiot," he said anyway. "Why would you sleep out here?"

"Because I don't think I can lay down all the way," he said with a grimace. "Unless you got me one of those tilting hospital beds as a welcome home present, this is going to be more comfortable."

Lee had already made a strategic retreat, Caleb noticed with approval. He was a good kid.

"Yeah, but are you going to get any sleep?" he growled.

"I don't think I can help it." Finn yawned in illustration. "What is the pain medicine I'm taking?"

"OxyContin."

"S'an effective sleep aid," he said, and he was apparently so tired that he was starting to slur his words.

"Also good if you need to barf, apparently."

"Think that was the antibiotics," he yawned again. "And making me take all those pills twice means you're evil, by the way. 'Night."

Caleb ignored his grim sense of accomplishment in almost literally shoving soup and a second round of pills down the dumbass's throat after he'd puked up the first round. He tried to think of a really good reason for Finn not to sleep on the couch, just so he could tell himself he wasn't a selfish bastard. He couldn't think of one, so he belatedly replied, "Yeah, sure," and went to the bedroom, happy that he was the only one in it. After a moment, he exited the room with the blanket off Finn's bed, which he threw in the blond's face, then he went back to the bedroom, resolutely telling himself to just go to bed already and to hell with everything.

* * *

Finn barely left the couch except to use the bathroom for nearly three days, his breath catching in his throat every time he had to move too much. The drugs were nearly as harmful as they were helpful, since they took a lot of the pain away but made him too drowsy to take advantage of it. He ate and drank nothing unless Caleb shoved it in his face. He did manage to get some work done, with his laptop on his knees and his books and papers spread out around him, but he would often fall asleep or get a random dizzy spell and have to put it aside.

They usually had balanced meals in this apartment—Caleb was an athlete, and PopTarts were not exactly full of protein—so they were constantly trying to give food to the recuperating victim. Finn generally did not reward their efforts. He would take a mouthful so that he didn't throw up the medicine, something he claimed had been more excruciating than actually being shot, and then ignore the rest. He said he'd eat when swallowing stopped making him feel like each bite was being forced down his throat with a sledgehammer. At least he was drinking a lot of water.

After three days, and a polite email from his concerned professor who wondered how his recovery was going, Finn decided he was done.

"I'm going back to school tomorrow," he informed the room at large, which included both of his roommates and two of their neighbours (they were hoping that having Tom and Yuri over for dinner would encourage him to eat something). "I'm tired of sitting here feeling like crap."

"It's only been a week," Tom said.

"I heal fast," Finn declared, standing up and obviously controlling his expression so it couldn't reveal his lie. "I'm taking a shower and going to bed. Goodnight, everybody."

Caleb didn't feel like breaking his silence, because he wasn't sure if this was a good or bad thing. It could have a positive or negative effect, each was equally likely, even if Caleb was convinced Finn's reasoning was poor. Although at the moment, he was thinking negative. For one thing, Finn probably shouldn't be getting his wound wet yet. If Caleb was a hopeful person, he'd think Finn would be careful about that. But he was all too aware that Finn was a dumbass and liable to put himself straight back in the hospital. For another . . . he'd said bed. Did that mean he was done sleeping on the couch?

That might be a good thing. Finn had been drowsy all the time but not really getting any rest, if the circles under his eyes were anything to go by. Might have something to do with the fact that he had been leaving the light on all night. If he was going to be in their room again, Caleb could make sure the dumbass wasn't trying to study all night or something.

"I'm going to check on Sara," Tom declared.

Apparently, she wasn't feeling good enough to join them for dinner, but she'd insisted that Tom and Yuri go. Caleb was once again impressed by her fortitude. She tried to act upbeat when he was around, but she was clearly sick as a dog most of the time, and he figured she had to be really strong to keep going like this and even allow all her loved ones to gather together to have a good time without her.

Although the having of a good time part was debatable.

"Can I go?" Lee asked quietly.

Tom hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Which left Caleb to entertain the two lovebirds. Wonderful. Since when was he the entertaining one? Yuri helped clean up the dishes, at least, and then all three of them started doing schoolwork. They could do it in their own damn apartment, but clearly they were giving Lee and Sara some space. Yeah, the poor kids probably needed it.

* * *

Sara was laying in her room with her bedside lamp on, staring at the wall. Lee steeled himself to be strong. She'd been so tough the first few weeks, but she was getting really worn down lately, especially since the last of her hair had fallen out. In fact, when he knocked on her door and poked his head in, she squeaked and yanked the blanket over her head.

"I don't have my scarf on!" she wailed.

Lee had picked up a few extra hours at work so he could buy her a dozen different scarves and hats. The pink one with the gold swirl through it was her favourite, and she'd cried when he gave them to her. But that didn't mean he wanted her hiding herself if she wasn't wearing it. "Sara," he sighed, coming in and sitting on the edge of her bed. "Don't do that."

"But Lee—"

"Please?"

She slowly slid her head out from underneath the covers. Lee's eyes skipped right over the pitifully bald scalp to take in the tears on her cheeks and the deep circles under her eyes. He quietly dabbed the tears away.

"Have you eaten today?"

"I had some potatoes. And some applesauce."

"That's all?"

"Everything tastes funny. Bitter, like aspirin."

"If I make you something, will you eat it?"

It took her a minute to respond. This was one of her fuzzy-headed days, then. Some days she was more lucid than others, and they'd all gotten good at pretending they didn't notice the bad days.

"Maybe. If it doesn't taste weird. And if it doesn't make me throw up."

"Do you want to come into the other room?" He prepared to carry her, because if she was laying here in bed it meant she _really_ didn't feel well. And because carrying her made him feel like he was actually strong enough to help her.

"No," she said in a small voice.

"Are you tired?"

"I just don't want you to see me."

Lee felt himself blushing to the roots of his hair and wondered how in hell a kid like him, who'd lived on the streets for months, could still get this embarrassed by anything. "Should I leave so you can get dressed?"

Sara gaped at him for a moment, then blushed furiously. "I'm dressed! I'm dressed. I just . . . Don't want you to see me."

Lee didn't know how he was going to make it through so many more months of this, when every single comment like that broke his heart. How many times could your heart break before you just couldn't put it back together anymore?

"Sara, what's wrong?"

"I'm so ugly, Lee," she whispered, and she hid herself under the blankets again. "I'm all just bones now and my skin is so dry and gross and I don't have any hair." She was crying under there. "I don't want you to look at me."

What Lee wanted to do was slightly improper and he kind of thought that proper behaviour could go screw itself for a while. He toed off his shoes and slid himself into the bed with Sara, so he could put his arms around her and cuddle her up against him. He put his hand on her scalp and rested his cheek on her forehead, which meant that she was crying right into that sensitive spot on his collarbone, but also meant that she knew he didn't care if she was bald or not.

"Too bad," he said after a minute. "I like looking at you, so I'm going to."

"There's nothing to look at."

"There's you." That didn't even make sense, and was unbelievably sappy, too. He really didn't know how to make her feel beautiful, not when she was so concerned about the weight she'd lost and the hair. He wasn't looking at that stuff. He didn't know how to make her see that. So he just held her, and stroked her back, and made soothing noises.

"Lee, I'm so tired," she cried. "I hate feeling like this. I'm always so tired and I always feel like I'm going to throw up even when I'm not. And I don't want to go back to school anymore. I don't want anyone to see me. I don't want to go to school when I'm so tired and so ugly."

"I know it's hard," he whispered. "I know."

He didn't know shit, not really. He knew about dizziness and fatigue, from those long days of no food and of sitting up all night watching his brother struggle to breathe. But he didn't know anything about puking all the time and having your hair fall out and feeling afraid every day that even after all this misery, it might not be enough and you still might die. Lee had been cold and hungry and scared, but he'd never had to face the idea that he might die. Now he thought he'd take Sara's cancer if he could. He'd rather try to cope with it than have to watch her do it. Not when the only thing he could do in return was hold her. This wasn't enough. This wasn't enough to help.

"You're going to get better, Sara," he said desperately. "There's a reason for all the things you're suffering through right now. Once it's over, you won't have to worry about being sick anymore. Your doctor says he's hopeful, remember? You only have to do this for a little while. Just a little while, and it will be over. I'm going to be here, the whole time." He tried not to crush her in his arms, tried to keep his embrace light on her fragile body. "Sara, I'm right here. Please, don't cry anymore. I know you're afraid of what they'll think of you at school, but I'm going to be with you the whole time. I won't let anyone hurt you. You know I would never let anyone do that. Don't listen to anyone tell you that you're not beautiful. I've seen into your heart, and that's all I can see now. Your heart will always be beautiful. I know you're worried about how you look. You look good to me, Sara. You always do. You're gorgeous. But you're so much more than that, I can't even imagine trying to only look at one part of you. Do you understand?" Desperate, he cupped her face in his hands and made her look at him. "Do you?"

She nodded, unable to speak, and he decided he'd said enough for now. They just rested that way for a while. It was sort of peaceful, now that he'd said all of that. He was so glad that they'd pulled her out of school for this first part. It had been a debate, at first, since there were days that she wasn't receiving treatment, but there was no way she could face a full day of class when she was like this.

Part of it was just how worn out she was. The fatigue made her depressed. And she had those fuzzy days, too, where she felt like her head was in the clouds, so that was part of it, too. Maybe tomorrow, after she'd rested, she wouldn't be crying like this. But eventually, it would be a bad day again, and they'd be right back to this dark place. It was exhausting, for both of them, and for her family, too.

Lee was telling himself just as much as he was telling Sara: just a little while. It will all be over in a little while. And yet he knew that even if it wasn't over then, even if it took longer to heal her, he would still be right here beside her. He couldn't picture himself anywhere else.

"Come on," he said after a few minutes of resting with her. "I want to make you something to eat."

He dragged her out of bed (it turned out she was decently clad, in yoga pants and a tank top) and he carried her to the table and called her "my lady." He cooked her an egg and a piece of toast, and she ate them and had a glass of apple juice. He wondered if he could get her to eat some soup, then decided that would be pushing his luck when she was so wrung out. She did eat some yoghurt, though. He restrained himself from breaking into a song and dance routine right there in her kitchen.

"Do you want to go back to bed?" he asked solicitously, once he thought he wouldn't be able to force anymore food into her.

"Yes. But can I have an Otter Pop?"

"You can have _twenty_ Otter Pops if you want them."

She decided on two, and he praised her very elaborately when he took her back to her room. Who knew? Maybe positive reinforcement would make her eat more often.

Tom and Yuri wandered in right after that, so Lee went home, but not before running his hand over Sara's smooth head and jokingly telling her that he sort of liked the feeling. It seemed Finn and Caleb had both gone to bed and he didn't have to worry about them, so he closed the door to his room, put on his pajamas, and fell into bed in exhaustion.

"Ril, I wish you were here," he whispered. "I need you."

Then he sobbed himself to sleep.

* * *

Finn's set up looked extremely uncomfortable, Caleb thought, taking a moment to observe since Finn was asleep anyway. Tom and Yuri had finally gone home and Caleb wanted to hit the hay, but he crept in quietly so as not to wake his roommate. Finn couldn't be sleeping very deeply, not the way he was positioned. He had taken all the pillows off the couch. His own bed pillow was behind his head, but there were a couple more keeping him propped part of the way up, so he couldn't lie down all the way. And he had one pillow shoved under his hip on the injured side. Was he elevating it in some psychotic way?

Finn's eyes cracked open. "Staring at me?" he sighed, probably not truly awake.

"Just wondering how you sleep like that."

"Not well."

"What's with the hip pillow?"

"So I don't roll over on it."

"Can't you just tell yourself to not move or something?"

"I sleep on my stomach. I always sleep on my stomach. You know that."

"You tried to roll over once already, didn't you?"

"I'm surprised you don't remember my screams."

"Was I even there?"

"No. But you must have heard them anyway."

"Does it still hurt that bad?"

"It's a little better. But it's barely been a week, you know. My ribs are going to take forever."

Caleb said nothing. That was clearly a dig, and he wasn't going to respond to it. He had no regrets about saving Finn's life, however much Finn might want him to.

"Stop trying to make me pity you," he grunted. "You're the one who wants to go back to class."

"I can't afford to miss anymore. I'm behind as it is."

"You're a genius. You'll manage."

Finn grinned at that, opened his mouth, and Caleb felt hope spring. Then his face fell and he closed his eyes again.

"Guess I will. Goodnight, Caleb."

"Yeah."

Hope was for chumps and girls. What was he thinking?

They'd both just barely closed their eyes when they heard the most nerve-wracking sound in the entire world: Lee, in his room, crying. It was hard not to hear it, his door was right across the hall. They both opened their eyes again and looked at one another.

"Crap," Caleb said, feeling eloquent as ever.

"God, that poor kid."

"I'd tell you to go play Mommy, but you kind of suck at that right now. Plus I'm going to sit on you if you try to get out of bed. Shit. Should I go . . . ?"

"You think you can handle that level of awkward?"

Caleb snorted and closed his eyes again. No. He was not exactly the sort of guy you went to if you needed to cry. That was Finn's job, supposedly. So he lay there in pulse-pounding tension, waiting for Lee to stop. Thankfully, it didn't last long. Lee was a tough kid; he wasn't the type to just cry all over the place. Must have got it out of his system. Caleb finally managed to fall asleep, but he didn't sleep well that night—through no fault of his own. It was just hard to sleep when the person in the bed a few feet away was waking up every few hours muttering or gasping. It was actually worse than listening to Lee cry. At least Lee was in another room and he could pretend he didn't know about it. Finn, who was apparently plagued by nightmares all night, was about four feet away and probably knew he was awake.

_Should never have let those stupid twins move in_, he thought in a very grumpy moment at about three-thirty in the morning when Finn cried out and tried to smack something that wasn't there. _I'd still have my own room and I wouldn't have to watch this shit or listen to that damn kid_.

Did he want that life back? Did he want to go back to being alone and pissed off?

_Maybe_.

Finn suddenly swung his legs around and stood, and Caleb tensed up.

"Sorry for keeping you awake," Finn said hoarsely. "I'm going back to the sofa."

_No_, he admitted.

Which made the whole thing suck even more.

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ And there you go, Finn's back! Slightly worse for the wear. Thanks for indulging my little jaunt into Gray and Ian's world!_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

_February 19__th_

Averil was beginning to wish that Sunny rode the bus with him. He saw her for five minutes here and there before a class, but all they really had was lunch. He made the most of that half hour. He'd started bringing food for her, since he was already packing lunch for himself and his greedy house-mate. Said greedy house-mate took the bus with him—that was why he wished Sunny did. By the end of that half-hour ride, he was either yelling at or ignoring Zack. He could be spending time getting to know Sunny better, instead. It was too bad.

Zack had archery practice today, so Averil had gotten off his stop alone today. He was pretty excited, though. Yvonne was gone for the next week, at least. A couple of contacts she had on the East Coast had told her about some interesting estate sales coming up, and she was out there looking for good buys. She said if Averil became interested enough in her shop, she'd take him with her the next time she went on a buying trip.

This week, though, he was only going in for a couple of hours. He'd keep the doors unlocked while he did a little dusting and filed a few papers, and that was about it. He'd promised to make sure Mike didn't starve, but he planned to do that by bringing over dinner leftovers after he'd cooked at home. Mike was barely there, anyway. He was taking advantage of Yvonne's absence by going out every night with these two sisters who acted like nothing so much as strippers, although Mike said they were actually sweet girls and that his own sister often came with them.

Today, Averil wasn't going into the shop at all. He went from the bus stop directly to the school, and found Karen sitting in her usual spot. She waved at him and then resumed kicking her heels on the wall. He continued across the street and joined her.

"You have a minute today?" she asked brightly.

"I have as many minutes as you want," he said fondly, reaching over to ruffle her long hair. "I'm not working today."

"Really?" Karen said with delight, taking his hand and holding it with both of hers. "You can sit with me, then."

"Of course."

"Is Zack practicing today?"

"Yes," he sighed, wondering why even _Karen_ had to remind him of Zack's existence.

"Oh." She sounded disappointed. God, why?

"Hey, I'm not good enough or something?" He pouted in the most exaggerated way possible, making her giggle.

"You are!" she declared, squeezing his hand. "You're my best friend!"

Averil couldn't help frowning a little, at that. "I am? Don't you have a best friend in there?"

Karen frowned back. "I don't want to. I like you better."

"You need to make friends with some of the kids who are your age, Karen. I mean, I like being your friend, I don't want you to think I don't want to be. I just think you should have more than one."

"But none of them come sit with me," she objected. "They only make friends with the kids who come play at their house after school. I can't, because I have to go home and practice my piano."

Averil was getting really tired of hearing about all the ways that Karen's life was restricted. She wasn't allowed to be a normal kid at all. From what he could gather, her mother even kept her on a strict diet because she'd bought into some kind of herbal remedy method to curing Karen's asthma. Well, there was no cure for asthma, and Averil was worried she'd go so far as to stop supplying Karen with an inhaler.

"Do you still like the piano?"

He asked her this pretty often. If she ever said "no," he wondered what he'd do.

"I still like it," she assured him. "I like making the piano tell people how I feel."

"Do you use it to tell your mother how you feel?"

"No," she said, and she started kicking the wall. "I don't want to."

Averil knew her mother would appear any minute, so he gave her a tight hug. "You're a wonderful girl, Karen," he said. He tried to tell her something like that any time he saw her. He knew Dovie did the same, but she said it had more impact when it was Averil. Karen placed a lot of weight on his opinions. It was quite a responsibility, but he didn't mind. "Have a nice weekend, okay? I'll see you on Monday."

"Okay. Bye, April."

"Bye, May."

It was a stupid joke, but she was six, so she could be forgiven for finding it funny. Averil walked away from the school in the wrong direction, not exactly sure why. He just didn't feel like going home to start on dinner and homework yet, not when he felt so distracted by his worry over Karen and his wishes for Sunny. It was cold, but he didn't feel too bad out here. He wandered around the corner, trying to make sure he kept track of his path so he could find his way back.

He'd just come around the corner when he saw her. A middle-aged woman, out in her yard, wrestling with a large tree branch. She had long hair that was getting in her eyes, and Averil wondered what on earth she was doing. He picked up the pace.

"Uh, hi. Are you okay, ma'am? Can I help you?"

She stopped and looked up at him, dashing the hair impatiently out of her eyes. "Oh. Um, hello. Yes, I'm fine. It's just this branch broke off the tree, and I'm trying to drag it over to the porch so I can cut it up small enough to put in the bin on the curb."

Averil looked at the large branch and though the woman seemed awfully frail to be doing that on her own.

"Well, let me help," he said, taking hold of one of the smaller branches poking off the large one. Between the two of them, they managed to get it to the porch, where she had an electrical saw plugged in. She looked at the whole arrangement with obvious misgiving.

"Ma'am?"

"Oh, sorry, I'm spacing out. Thanks for your help."

"I was just going to ask if anyone lives here with you that could help you with this."

"No," she said after a moment. "No, it's just me." Then she lifted her hands and dabbed at her eyes. "Sorry."

"No, I . . . let me do this, okay?"

"What?" she said, sounding horrified. "No, no, I don't want to bother you like that. It's not your problem."

"I live in this neighbourhood. I think it would be my problem if one of my neighbours cuts all her fingers off with a saw," he said wryly.

"Well, do you— do you know how to use it?"

"I can figure it out."

He knelt down and picked it up, and it felt comfortable in his hand, like he knew what he was supposed to do with it.

"_A birdhouse for your mom's birthday."_

He grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the encroaching half-memory into retreat. He should consider it an encouraging thing, when he remembered stuff like that. He should try to do more of it. But he forced it away, instead. It hurt. And that was almost definitely a psychosomatic problem. He was one seriously screwed-up person, and he knew it, but none of that was getting this hunk of wood chopped up and out of this woman's way.

He squeezed the trigger on the handle and started buzzing his way through the branch. The woman covered her ears and took a step back. She wrung her hands a little and danced around nervously, worried about him cutting himself to pieces instead of the branch, probably. He didn't want to ignore her, but he couldn't exactly reassure her over the noise produced by the saw, either. So he just kept working, steadily taking the branch apart into manageably sized hunks.

He was sort of proud of himself when he sawed through the last piece and set the tool down. He stood up, brushing a thick layer of sawdust off himself. "There. Nothing to it."

"Nothing?" she said disbelievingly. "That took you twenty minutes."

"Oh, shoot," Averil said, looking at his watch. "Okay, I'd better hurry and get this cleaned up, then. I have to go home and make dinner." He thought about how there were there were three of them, all three sitting down together at night for dinner, like a family. He looked at the woman. She looked tired and sad. "It's really just you in this house?"

"Yes. My son used to— but he's dead now, so— you know, he'd be your age, if he were still with me."

She was cleaning things up as she spoke, not looking at him. He decided it was all right to feel pity for her. Or . . . Not pity, exactly. He looked around the yard, overgrown and full of weeds, the untrimmed tree, the dingy tone to the once-bright paint on the window frames and doors. Perhaps a sense of kinship? He was drawn to her, the way he was drawn to Karen. One of the people in the world who felt rootless, like they were drifting along without purpose. Maybe they were all drifting along, looking for each other.

"May I come back?" he asked quietly, dragging a chunk of wood as he spoke. "To help you with some more of the yardwork?"

"You're asking me if you can?" she said in surprise.

"I would never want to intrude. I just thought I could help you, if you have any other projects like this."

She gave her yard a bleak look. "I have to get the house ready to sell."

"Oh?"

"It's too much for just me, you see. I've already put it off for a long time, and I know that I need to move on soon. Yes, dear, you can come back. I'll pay you for your work, of course, but you'll have to tell me what's fair."

"Oh, no, ma'am, I don't want you to pay me!" Averil protested, horrified. "I just thought, since there's a lot of work to be done, and you don't have anyone to help you—" Oh, that was _bad_, she looked like she was going to cry "—I want to help you, that's all! Please let me!" Wow. Apparently this was more important to him than he'd thought it was.

"Oh, I . . . you know something?" She was smiling softly. "You remind me a little of my son. He was like that, always trying to look after me."

Averil decided that a little bit of pity would not go entirely amiss. He thought hard for a moment, and tried to say something that would make her feel better. "I'm glad, then, if I can make you remember good things about him." He scuffed his foot on the ground, looking down. "I lost my mother, you know. Maybe this is fate."

Urgh. Was Yvonne rubbing off on him or something? Since when did he believe in fate?

Okay, wait. Maybe he did believe in fate and it was one of those things he didn't remember. The eccentricities of his memory were starting to become aggravating.

"Anyway, I have to go for today, but I'll come back tomorrow. If that's okay with you, I mean."

"Yes. That would be wonderful."

She had a nice smile. She must have been a great mother.

"I'm Averil, by the way. Averil Reed."

"It's very nice to meet you, dear. I'm Laura."

"Oh. Um. Shouldn't I call you, you know, Mrs. . ."

"It's White, Laura White. But you can call me Laura," she said warmly.

"Okay," he agreed, and realized she hadn't let go of his hand when she'd shaken it. She was still holding it. She seemed to notice it as well, and dropped it with a faint blush. "I'll come back tomorrow," he assured her, desperate to ease her almost-palpable loneliness. "See you then!"

He cast a glance back over his shoulder as he walked away. She stood in the yard and watched him go, lifting her hand to wipe away tears. He thought they were the good kind of tears, though, and he was inordinately proud of being the reason for them. In the absence of a mother to be a good son for, maybe it really was like fate to meet her. She had needed someone to come along, and here he was, a free weekend at his disposal. And it was more than just _nice_ to feel needed like this. It was _amazing_.

* * *

_February 20__th_

Averil found himself rising early on Saturday morning, putting a note on the refrigerator that said he'd be gone all day, then rushing through his work at the antique store. He doubted Mike had gotten home before the wee hours, and he was sure the little guy would sleep very late, so he let himself in. He had dusted everything and filed away the paperwork that Yvonne left out, well before anyone else in the neighbourhood could have even been out of bed. He made himself some toast in Yvonne's kitchen, figuring it was better if the bread was used before it went stale.

Then he set off, practically skipping down the street and around the corner. He was ready to work. He had offered his first paycheck to Harold, who had actually gotten sort of mad at him, then he'd used it to buy some more clothes—meaning the clothes he'd arrived in were now his work clothes. He'd never been able to get out the stains from laying in the muddy street, anyway. He wasn't wearing his coat, since that was still the only coat he had and he didn't want to ruin it. He'd get warm from working, anyway.

The woman was sitting in a deck chair on her front porch with a steaming mug in her hand, bundled up in a blanket that looked hand-made.

"Good morning!" she greeted him cheerfully.

"Good morning, Mrs.—Laura!" he replied. "I'm ready to work!"

"I can see that," she laughed. "Why don't you come up here and have a cup of coffee first?"

Averil was surprised, but he willingly came to join her, and found that she had a second mug waiting for him, still hot. He didn't really drink coffee, but he sipped on it to please her.

"Wow, you make really good coffee," he said, pleasantly surprised by the nutty, rich taste of it, and something . . . Vanilla?

"Thank you," she said with obvious pleasure. "I guess I just don't see the point of drinking coffee if it isn't good."

Averil almost choked when she said that. "Sounds like something Zack would say," he blurted out when she asked him if he was okay.

"Oh? Who is Zack?"

He didn't really _mean_ to start talking, but once he did, he couldn't stop. He told her all about Zack, and Harold, and then about Yvonne and Mike, and even Sunny (though he decided to leave out Karen until he knew Laura better). She responded at every moment just like he imagined his own mother might, asking questions and smiling at anything he was enthusiastic about. She told him that he was a nice boy and that if he was patient, Sunny would certainly realize that. He was less happy when she told him he ought to be patient with Zack, as well.

"With Zack?" he wrinkled his nose, draining the last of his (now cool) coffee. "Why?"

"The way you describe him makes him sound like a very solitary person."

"He is, I guess."

"Then he's not used to explaining himself to people. He's not used to anyone caring about the way he behaves or how he expresses himself. He's learning how to get along with you through trial and error, just like you are."

Averil squirmed uncomfortably at that. He didn't want to think about Zack like that. He preferred his image of Zack as a cold and ill-mannered person who didn't care about Averil enough to explain himself to him. If Laura was right, that made it _way_ more awkward . . . So he just wouldn't believe her, that was all. She was right that he should be patient with Sunny, but that didn't mean she was right about everything.

"You didn't really say," Laura shifted the subject. "Why you live with the Williams, I mean. Is it because you lost your mother?"

Averil set his empty coffee cup down. "I'll tell you about that next time," he said. "But it's already been an hour, we should really get started on the work."

Now that the coffee was gone, he was officially _freezing_.

"Oh, goodness, you're right, dear," she said, startled. "I was having such a good time talking with you that I didn't notice."

"Me, too," he said shyly, then he took her blanket as she stood up, like a gentleman with a lady's coat. His asthma was making itself known, making his throat feel rather too small for the job it was supposed to do. His chest hurt from the cold air. He ignored it all with resolution.

"Wait right here, I went out yesterday and bought some work gloves for us," she said, and scurried into the house to fetch them. She handed over one pair and slipped one pair onto her own hands. "Okay. What should we start with?"

* * *

"I'm back," Averil announced as he came in and slipped out of his dirty shoes. It had gotten to be five o'clock before he knew it, and he needed to get to the grocery store tonight. Saturday night was his official grocery shopping night, and Sunday afternoon was when he did most of the work on lunches for the upcoming week. Laura had made him lunch, but he'd been working so hard that he was hungry again, and he was fantasizing about what he'd buy tonight. They had trimmed the tree in her yard until it actually looked nice, and they had loaded all the branches into the back of an old pickup truck in her garage that she said had once belonged to her husband, so they could drive them to a disposal area later. Then they'd trimmed all the bushes around her house and cleaned up the edges of the yard so they looked trim.

"Thank _God_," Harold answered, practically running into the room. He grabbed Averil by the shoulders. "Where the hell have you been all day?"

"Just around the corner," he answered, mystified by the expression on Harold's face. "I left a note."

"You left a note saying that you'd be gone all day! You didn't say where you went or when you were coming back or—" He stopped and peered into Averil's face. Averil wasn't sure what he was hoping to find there. He was just dumbfounded that Harold had been so worried. "Averil. Did you really not think you should mention any of that?"

"I guess," he muttered, twitching under Harold's perusal. "I don't know, I just thought it wasn't a big deal. I mean, if it was Zack I guess I'd know why you'd be worried, but it's just _me_—"

"Boy, you are going to be the death of me," Harold declared, and suddenly Averil was buried in a crushing embrace. "I don't know where you get this idea that you're not important. You look at me," he ordered, pushing Averil back just enough to let him raise his eyes. "I would be pretty damn unhappy if anything happened to you, do you understand? I care about you. I invited you to live in my home, and I'm trying to consider you as a part of my family, but you make it a little difficult when you won't see yourself that way."

Averil blinked rapidly, because he didn't want Harold to see him cry. Absolutely not. "I— I'm— I should have—"

"I know this is tough for you," Harold interrupted, putting him out of his misery. "I know you're not used to it. And I'm not angry with you, you understand. I've just been sitting here on my ass all day wondering if you were going to come back, thinking I ought to be here if you called or something."

It suddenly occurred to Averil that he was something of an enigma, as strange as that was to contemplate. The things that could have been going through Harold's mind . . . Maybe Averil had left a note just like that at his former home. Maybe Harold had thought Averil was running away. Maybe he even thought Averil was planning to kill himself again.

Averil shuddered, and he realized he'd stepped forward so that Harold was forced to hug him again. "I'm sorry," he squeezed out. Literally squeezed out. The cold, damp air and hard work had not been particularly good for him, and he was rather desperately grateful to be inside the warm house.

"I know you are, boy." Then Harold looked down at him with gravity. "You don't have to like it, but you do have to go tell Zack you're sorry, as well."

"What? Why?"

"He was out looking for you all morning. Went to school to see if you were there, went to the antique store and woke Mike up asking if he'd seen you, went across the street to check around the kids' school. He even called those apartments that Yvonne owns to see if you were doing some work for her over there. When he couldn't find you, he went to his practice range and shot arrows until he hurt himself. I just finished taping up his fingers."

"Oh."

It came out in a whisper. He didn't want to apologize to Zack. Nobody asked Zack to go looking for him. He'd left a freaking _note_.

"Out of curiosity, what _have_ you been doing all day?" Harold asked as he finally let Averil go. "You're filthy."

"Yard work," he said with a grin.

Harold stared at him. "Lord almighty, boy. Please tell me you can breathe right now."

"I'm okay," Averil assured him. Mostly okay, anyway.

"Did you get some foolish idea in your head that you need a second job?"

"No, I'm doing it for free."

Averil explained his meeting with Laura, and how she didn't have anyone else to help her, and that he felt sad for her because she'd lost her son. He started to feel very awkward when his explanation approached the territory of how much he missed having a mother, so he skipped that part and just said she was surprisingly easy to get along with.

"I remember that woman. At least, I remember when her son died. It's been five or six years ago. I remember, because he was Zack's age and I had thought they'd get along if Zack's dad ever let me see him. Of course, right after the boy died, Zack did start living with me. That poor woman's been talking about selling her house and moving ever since. I'm glad she's finally made the decision. I never liked that she was there on her own, surrounded by those memories."

Averil surprised himself by entertaining a brief wish that he remembered what he'd been doing five or six years ago. Immediately a headache started forming, and he forced the thoughts away. No, he didn't wish that at all. Why would he? Remembering that would lead to him remembering why he'd tried to commit suicide, and that was the last thing he wanted.

"Well, it's really nice of you to help her, Averil. Just be sure you're taking care of yourself, okay?"

"Okay," Averil said agreeably, and waited until he'd gotten into the hallway out of sight to use his inhaler. He went into the bedroom to grab a piece of paper to make a grocery list, and nearly cringed when he saw Zack sitting at the desk, calmly studying. Zack raised his head and stopped Averil cold, because the look in his eyes was utterly indescribable. It was intense, whatever it was. Averil dropped his own eyes and saw the bandages on Zack's fingers. He wore a guard and somehow he'd still shot enough arrows to rub his fingers raw on his bow string. He winced. He opened his mouth to make an effort at an apology, but nothing would come out.

"Don't do that again," Zack said. In that absolutely aggravating voice of command, like he expected Averil to just _obey_ him or something.

"_I'm not your CHILD and you can't just tell me what I can DO."_ The words were right there on the tip of his tongue. But his traitorous brain, with its stupid ability to forget important things like who he was and still remember random moments of conversation, was stopping him. "_He's not used to anyone caring about the way he behaves or how he expresses himself. He's learning . . ."_

"I won't," he muttered, and grabbed a piece of paper, and ran to the kitchen in a shamelessly cowardly retreat.

* * *

His day had been hell. True hell. He could not think of a worse way to spend eternity than to spend it feeling panicked and searching for an idiot who had no sense of self-preservation. It hadn't been Grandfather who had first raised the idea that Averil might be trying to kill himself again, it had been him. But Zack had told himself over and over that Averil had too much going for him now to want to do that. He was totally wrapped up in trying to get close to Sunny and in his attempts to help that little girl across the street. He wouldn't do that, not anymore.

But they'd still worried. Because Averil didn't know how to say "no," or "enough" and he had asthma and panic attacks and all kinds of problems. If someone asked him to do something, he'd do it, even if it killed him. Unless it was Zack asking, of course.

He'd reached the point of true desperation when he'd called those apartments.

"_Thank you for calling, this is Molly, how can I help you?"_

_She sounded just as ridiculously perky as her brother, and he was very much not in the mood to hear perkiness._

"_Are you the only one in the office today?"_

"_Um, yes, I am."_

"_Yvonne didn't send her new employee over there?"_

"_New employee?"_

"_From the antique shop," he confirmed, feeling both afraid and angry, and now maybe just a little guilty for snapping at the girl on the phone._

"_Oh, that's right, they mentioned there was someone else working there, now. No, he's not here. Is he supposed to be?"_

"_No, I guess not," he growled, and hung up._

_That was it. That was his last resort. Now he knew of no other places to check. What if Averil had gotten his memories back? What if he'd gone home or something? What if home wasn't a good place for him, what if they wouldn't let him call to tell Grandfather or Zack where he was? What if he was hurt? What if remembering had made him depressed again? Had he walked into traffic again?_

_There had never been a problem Zack could not solve before. But Averil seemed to be full of those._

_With an absence of anything he could do, he went to the practice range and started shooting. It was controlled. The arrows did exactly what he wanted them to do. Every time he told them where to go, they went there. He didn't have to speak to them, and they didn't get upset with him. Every time he shot an arrow, it was perfect. So he just kept shooting. Until an employee saw him dripping blood and quietly escorted him to the door._

So what was he supposed to say, now that Averil had come back, blithely unaware of the havoc he'd created? Was he supposed to say that he knew what Averil's health problems felt like now, since he'd spent the entire day unable to breathe past the tight feeling of fear in his chest? He couldn't say that. He didn't want to get yelled at.

But Averil was looking at his fingers. He'd at least get _some_ clue of what he'd put them through today from that.

"Don't do that again."

It was the only thing he could think of to say. He wasn't good at saying what he was feeling, and that was all that would come out of him. Would Averil notice that it was more of a fervent plea than the cold-hearted order it sounded like? Probably not. Averil was really, really bad at guessing what Zack was thinking. He was probably about to start yelling at him. Zack almost welcomed it, since he'd spent the entire day worried that Averil wasn't going to be around to yell at him anymore.

Instead, there was just those two tiny words.

"I won't."

Averil ran away, but Zack didn't care. He'd gotten what he needed. Averil was never going to get down on his knees and promise, but that was as close as he'd come to it. Because for all his dramatics, Averil wasn't too good at saying what he was feeling, either. So Zack would take what he could get.

* * *

_February 22__nd_

"Hello, Averil. How are you today?"

"Hi, Laura. I'm great."

Which was not entirely honest. His day had been a little weird. After spending half of Sunday helping Laura with weeding and the other half fixing lunches for the week, he'd had to rush through his homework last night. He'd been tired and crabby this morning, until lunch. He'd gotten to spend lunch with Sunny. They'd been sharing around the pasta salad he'd made and he'd been telling her about Laura. Sunny said he was a good person and very sweet to help her, then she reached for a napkin and accidentally tipped a steaming cup of hot chocolate onto him.

It would have hurt, if it had landed on him. Probably burned the bare skin of his arm quite badly, especially since he hadn't seen the clumsy motion with his semi-mysterious blind eye. But Zack, always ready for this type of thing, had caught the cup and kept it from burning Averil. Averil had, of course, just stared at him for a moment, both impressed by his reflexes and embarrassed that he needed saving _again_. Why couldn't he ever just seem _normal_ in front of Zack? He didn't need to look strong, just _not weak._ But it was always _this_.

"No need to thank me," Zack had muttered.

"Maybe I was GOING to if you gave me a second to TALK," Averil had replied.

Zack had just looked away, but Sunny burst out laughing.

"You guys are so funny!" she declared. "You became such good friends so quickly!"

"We did NOT," Averil had countered, but Sunny had already moved on to being sorry for her clumsiness. She apologized to Averil quite profusely, in fact, and any attention from Sunny was good attention, so that was good. But then she'd gone and hung all over Zack to apologize to him, too, even though she hadn't done anything to hurt him and it was just Zack throwing himself in harm's way when nobody asked him to.

It wasn't until they were on the bus home that Averil had noticed the back of Zack's hand was covered in angry red splotches. Went great with the bandages covering his raw fingers.

"It was a pretty good day," Averil concluded, deciding that since Sunny had recognized how nice he was and had spent all that time apologizing to him, it had been not half bad. "How was yours?"

"Boring," she said with a pained smile. "I didn't realize how much I was already getting used to having you around to talk to, after just a couple of days."

"Well, I'm here now, even though I can't stay long. What work do you want to get done today?"

"I don't think it's worth it to work on the lawn until it's a little warmer outside. How are you at construction?"

"Construction?"

"I have some broken slats on the shutters, and I was thinking we could measure them, get some wood from the hardware store, and start repairing them. Once they're all done I want to repaint the trim around the house. Is that a project we could start on today?"

"Yeah, sure, if you have a measuring tape. Oh, before that, though, here." He rummaged in his bookbag for the plastic container he'd tucked inside. "I made everyone some pasta salad today, and I didn't know if you wanted to try it . . ."

"I'd love to," Laura said warmly, taking it from him and walking over to set it on her chair on the porch. Averil took the opportunity afforded by her turning away to use his inhaler. She didn't need to know that all this work outside was aggravating his condition. "So, did you have lunch with Sunny today?"

She really did seem interested in his life. He eagerly launched into the tale.

* * *

Repairing and painting the shutters took up his afternoons for the rest of the week, during which time Averil found himself telling Laura a great deal about himself. As much as he knew, in fact. He told her that he'd lost his memories in that car accident and that he'd woken up in the Williams house. He told her that he didn't know what had been so bad about his life that he'd tried to end it. He only knew for sure that his parents were dead. He told her all about what had happened since then, about what it was like to work for Yvonne and how he visited the kindergarten to see Karen. He told her all about his concerns about Karen's home life, and how responsible he felt because the little girl had latched on to him.

Laura was amazing, to him. It was like having the best kind of mother. She listened to him talk, and she only him advice when he wanted it. She teased him about his crush on Sunny, and admonished him to be nicer to Zack. She helped him with the work on her house as much as possible, even though she wasn't very gifted with it. She made him coffee and cookies and made him take a break from working to share the refreshments.

She was always happy to see him and eager to hear the news of his day. His presence seemed to cure the pain and loneliness that he had sensed from her. That was an incredible feeling. Averil knew he was quickly becoming addicted to it. But was there anything so wrong about it? He'd never tell anyone how he felt about this, not even Laura, because it was embarrassing and personal and probably twisted. But if she needed a son and he needed a mother, who was to stop them from finding that in one another?

He didn't tell her about his health problems, though. He didn't want to worry her, and it seemed unnecessary, especially if it made her worry enough to tell him to stop noticed himself starting to cough a lot on the day they finished the shutters, but he ignored it. Yvonne would be back in just a few days, and he wouldn't get to spend as much time here, so he wanted to be with Laura as much as he could until then.

* * *

_February 27__th_

On Saturday, Averil came home humming cheerfully. Yvonne would be back tomorrow, so he'd gotten a nice full day of work done with Laura. They were now comfortable enough with a hammer and nails (and friendly enough with Walt at the hardware store) to attempt to repair her porch. They hadn't killed themselves today, at least, although it had been close a couple of times.

He was mentally beginning his grocery list as he went down the hall to the bedroom, but he paused there to let loose on a bad coughing fit. He didn't want Harold or Zack to know he was feeling sick, because they'd undoubtedly wrap him in a blanket, cover him in Vicks, and hover over him like a pair of freaking guardian angels. And then they'd tell him to stop working at Laura's house, and he wasn't about to do that.

The coughing really hurt, and he was wheezing as he straightened up to resume walking. He immediately hauled himself up short in surprise when he took a step forward and ran right into Zack, who was standing there with his arms crossed and a doubtful look on his face.

"What are DOING, just standing there?" Averil covered his shock by snapping. "Are you TRYING to scare the living daylights out of me?"

"Did you know that they think the origin of that phrase might be someone's 'life force'?" Zack drawled.

"No, that's interes— so WHAT?"

"So, no, I wasn't trying to kill you," Zack said.

"Clever," Averil replied acidly. "What are you doing, then?"

"I heard you coughing and I wanted to see if you were okay."

"Well, now you've seen," Averil said, attempting to pass by him and being rebuffed. Zack wasn't a big guy, really, but boy was he a _solid_ presence when he wanted to be. "I'm fine."

"You're due for a new inhaler," Zack noticed.

"I know. I'm going to get one when I go out for groceries later."

"I'm going to drive you to the store," Zack said decisively.

Zack's sixteenth birthday, as it turned out, was next week. But he'd been driving for a year already, because apparently there were special circumstances under which you could get your driver's license early, and one of those circumstances was living alone with an old man who pretended he was going deaf. It was just another one of those things that made Averil feel inadequate, really. He should have learned to drive by now.

Besides. When had he asked Zack for help?

"Why? I always go to the one right there on the corner."

"You have to go to the pharmacy for your medicine."

"I can walk there," Averil protested, once again feeling inadequate because he hadn't learned how to drive yet. "It isn't that far." He did _not_ need help from _Zack_ because he was _not that weak_. Why couldn't Zack just let him prove he could take care of himself? Why did he always have to be a mother hen about everything?

"Yeah, but I need something from the bigger grocery store, anyway. They don't carry it at the store on the corner."

"What's that?"

"Leeks. There's a recipe I found that I want you to make."

"Oh, I get it now," Averil grumped. "I have to make you something I don't even know how to make, and I have to go halfway across the freaking world for the ingredients, and you're just driving me for your own selfish reasons. Well, fine. Now will you MOVE?"

Averil shoved past him, and this time, it worked, although that fact did not make him feel any less irritated. He knew he'd never have been able to get by Zack unless Zack had let him.

* * *

That cough didn't sound good. The guy's breathing was not so hot to start with, and now he'd gone and picked up a cough. Zack had every right to be worried, he told himself, since it would be him who'd have to pick the retard up if he collapsed in a coughing fit.

It was working over at that neighbour's house that was doing it to him. But Zack couldn't bring himself to say anything, even if he _was_ concerned that Averil was working too hard and putting his health in danger. Because he was so _happy_ over there. This woman was giving him something that it seemed like none of the rest of them could give him, and Zack wasn't about to take that away.

He'd help where he could, though. And that meant Averil wasn't going to be wandering around in the weather tomorrow, hauling heavy sacks of groceries. Zack would see to that. And he didn't care if Averil thought he was doing it for selfish reasons, since he'd despaired of the idea that the kid was ever going to understand Zack at all. He didn't need Averil to understand, so long as he agreed to the thing Zack wanted.

But he'd come up with a seriously dumb lie. Now he had about five minutes to get online and try to find some kind of recipe that called for leeks.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

_February 24th_

His phone was ringing.

He just couldn't open his eyes. He fumbled blearily for the cell phone, which was somewhere near the alarm clock on the nightstand in between the two beds. He didn't really want to answer it. But he hadn't gotten to sleep, _real_ sleep, until nearly five a.m. and he'd slept right through the meeting he was supposed to have with his thesis director, so it was probably Professor Rodriguez wondering about him.

God, he was tired. And in pain. For pete's sake, how long was it supposed to take for broken ribs and a gigantic hole in his side to heal? His entire torso still felt like it was being stepped on by a horse. Make that a Clydesdale.

Professor Rodriguez would be nice about it, anyway. He'd said Finn could have all the time he needed to recover from his injuries and he would understand if Finn couldn't make it for a couple of weeks.

"Hello?" he finally whispered into the phone, hearing the awful hoarseness in his voice. It was the damn drugs. They were making him sleepy and dehydrated, which was a truly winning combination.

Just silence on the other end. Bad connection?

"Hello?" he mumbled again, trying to hold very still so he wouldn't start gasping in pain.

Not a bad connection. He could hear the caller breathing. What was going on? Not very many people had his phone number . . .

"Um, I don't know who this is," he said in his most chirpy voice, "but thanks for waking me up!"

"Still in bed at this hour?" the voice on the other end finally spoke. "I'm disappointed."

Finn felt the bottom drop out of his world.

He knew that voice.

It was really over now.

He'd narrowly dodged losing everything. It had turned out that the crime he had committed when he was seventeen had never been reported, and so he thought he had been safe, that his roommates were never going to find out about the whole host of sins he had committed. He should have known. He should have _known_ because he was _cursed_, his entire fucking _existence_ was cursed, that things had been too easy. The sudden distance he'd put between himself and Caleb and the excruciating pain in his body and soul were just too _easy_.

And now the end had really come.

"How did you find me?" he whispered. There was no point in trying to put on a front, in trying to sound strong. This man had already seen just how weak and pathetic Finn could be.

"I have a private detective who periodically checks police reports for me."

"And how did you get my phone number?"

"From your school."

"They gave it to you?"

"I was forced to use every ounce of charm I possess, and you know that I possess a considerable amount of charm."

"Yeah," Finn agreed, too exhausted to say anything more.

"It helps that I was once your legal guardian, and that the woman who was working in your school's office has a bleeding heart. I was able to get all _sorts_ of interesting information about you."

"Like what?" he said, suddenly not exhausted at all and sitting up with a sharp hiss of pain.

"I wonder about this person you have listed as your emergency contact, this Caleb Hawke person. She was, most unfortunately, not able to give me his telephone number. Who is he?"

"Nobody important. Had to write down someone and I sure wasn't going to put you," he said, hoping that he was imagining the way his voice shook. "That's enough, Arthur. What do you want?"

"Want? Nothing, really. I'm just delighted to have found you again. I've _missed_ you, Finn."

"You're lying," he said, wondering how his mouth could have possibly gotten any drier than it already was. "I don't know what you want, and I don't care. Leave me alone, Arthur. Just leave me the hell alone."

He hung up, and he tossed the phone across the room like it was burning his hand. It flipped open again, and he stared at it. His background for the screen was a quick photo that he'd forced Lee to take and that he'd attempted to yank Caleb into, with marginal success. He should have deleted it, by now. But he just couldn't seem to force himself to get rid of this last reminder of how good it had been for a little while. It was never going to be that great again, not after Caleb had saved him and shown him just how close he'd accidentally gotten to his roommate. But he kept the picture.

Now it was over.

But Arthur said he didn't want anything. He was just toying with him, making that phone call, showing him that he knew where Finn was and how to get to him. If he wanted to hurt Finn, he'd have just shown up at the door, right? That meant . . . what, exactly? Maybe nothing.

"He's not going to do anything," he said aloud. "For now."

Finn knew Arthur pretty well. If he'd wanted to do something, he wouldn't have called him and warned him. It meant that Caleb and Lee (and Sara, and Tom, and Yuri) were safe for the moment. Arthur wasn't interested in them. He only wanted to mess with Finn's head. (Because what Finn's head really needed was to be messed with some more.) It wasn't pleasant for him, sure, but the people he cared about were safe.

So he wasn't going to tell them about this. He'd kept his secrets this long, and he wasn't about to reveal them now. If Arthur pushed him, he might have no choice. But so long as it was just annoying phone calls, they didn't need to know.

* * *

"Hey, kid. Come with me."

"Where are we going?" Lee asked, hardly looking up from his homework. He had been struggling to keep his grades up this past month. You really couldn't blame him, but he was determined to get back on track, and that meant repetitive, mindless physics calculations. He could hardly wait to move on; he still had to finish reading _Great Expectations_. A month ago, he would have happily continued to study physics all night to avoid his English homework, but Claire Elda had made the class so much better for him that he almost thought he liked reading. His regular English teacher had come back and Miss Elda was swimming the murky waters of senior-level economics, but things were still going positively.

"Outside," Caleb said impatiently, and Lee finally looked up. Caleb was standing there in a jacket and holding two baseball mitts. "Come on, just out to the courtyard for a while."

Lee jumped up to follow him, suddenly more eager to walk away from studying for a while. Caleb had overheard him tell Sara that he'd been in Little League as a kid, and suddenly he'd been recruited to keep Caleb's throwing arm warm between practice and game.

"Sorry to distract you and all. We've got a game tomorrow and the coaches are riding my ass about how—hectic—things have been for me lately."

Lee took a mitt as soon as he'd shrugged into a jacket. "I don't mind," he said as they headed downstairs. "I like baseball!"

"You looked like you could use a break, anyway."

"So could you," Lee said, observing the circles that were beginning to develop under Caleb's eyes. He, too, was studying hard, because he had to keep his grades up to hang onto his athletic scholarship. But Lee knew it had far more to do with Finn than it did with San Francisco State University's grueling introductory biology course.

"Huh?" was Caleb's only response, maybe not hearing him and maybe only pretending not to hear him. "Well, anyway, thanks."

"No problem," Lee said as they entered the courtyard and veered as far away from one another as they could get. He caught Caleb's first throw easily and lobbed it back.

"So when does Sara go back to school?" Caleb asked, tossing another warm-up throw.

"Tomorrow," Lee replied, throwing it back a little harder.

"She feeling okay about it?"

"She's really nervous about it," Lee admitted. "But I think that's mainly because of her hair. I know everyone will get used to it pretty quickly, and then she'll be fine."

"She'll still have to go back for treatment pretty often, though, right?" Caleb seemed to think the warm-up was over, because he started throwing harder.

"Yeah, she's still going to miss a lot of school in the next few months." Lee whipped the ball back at him.

"She's pretty strong, Lee. I think she's going to be all right."

"So do I," Lee said, forcing firmness into his voice. His doubts were just that— mere doubts. Sara _was_ strong, and he honestly believed that things were going to work out, soon enough. "I'm more worried about Finn right now."

Caleb didn't falter, and the ball zoomed into Lee's mitt with a resounding _smack_. But his face had changed, become less open. "Yeah," he grunted.

"Do you think he's going to be okay?"

"When has that idiot ever been okay?" Caleb countered, catching Lee's return throw with a sharp snap of his mitt.

"I just mean . . . I don't think he's been getting a lot of sleep." Lee decided not to mention that Caleb clearly wasn't getting a lot of it, either.

"He's been getting plenty, he's just been getting it at stupid times of day. He'll be better once he's off that medication."

Maybe Caleb believed that, but the baseball slammed into Lee's mitt so hard that it took an effort not to drop it.

"Yeah, I guess," Lee said. "But I'm still worried about him."

"He wouldn't thank you for that."

"He hasn't thanked you, either."

Caleb's answer to that was to send the ball rocketing at Lee, and catching it caused him to feel a tingle all the way from his palm up to his elbow. He manfully hung on to it and threw it back, as hard as he could. Which was pretty pitiful, compared to Caleb.

"Yeah, well, what do you expect of the dumbass?"

"I guess we should just give him some time. He did get shot and all," Lee said dryly.

This time, he did drop the ball, and he bit down on a yelp of pain. "Sorry," he called out, bending down to get it. "I really suck. It's a good thing I decided not to try out for the team at school, they'd never have taken me."

"You were going to try out?"

Lee blushed. "I was thinking about it. But everything with Sara . . . I wouldn't have had time for it." He threw the ball back to Caleb, wincing and wiggling his fingers inside his mitt to return some feeling to his hand.

Caleb didn't throw it back. He was only looking at Lee out of the corner of his eye, his expression distant and angry.

"You can go back inside, I'm finished for now."

Lee didn't argue, he just made for the stairs. "Aren't you coming?"

"Naw, I got an errand to run."

Lee suspected that this errand was going to consist entirely of taking his motorcycle out for a drive. Caleb claimed driving the bike cleared his mind when he couldn't think. But Lee wasn't about to say anything. With the tension in the apartment, it was no wonder the guy needed to get out sometimes, even if he was going to freeze to death.

Lee went back to his homework and tried not to think about anything. He'd go over and say goodnight to Sara in a little while, and then he'd go to bed and try even harder not to think. Caleb would come back soon enough, but Lee didn't bother trying to make dinner. He sucked at cooking unless Averil was there to coach him, and Caleb was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. And Finn wasn't even a consideration, today. He was going to be at work until they closed, then he was going to spend half the night studying in the university library.

Lee admitted to feeling puzzled by the fact that Finn suddenly didn't want to be at home. Hurt, even. But he wasn't the one Finn was really hurting, so he certainly wasn't going to say anything.

* * *

_February 25__th_

"Are you ready?" Lee asked Sara, twining their arms together.

Sara looked doubtfully at the staircase in front of them, but it was in a joking way. "I don't know, Lee. You and Tom have been carrying me around so much, I'm not sure I remember how to use the stairs."

"Very funny," he scoffed, and tugged her forward. She wasn't stalling, exactly, but she wasn't broadcasting enthusiasm, either. Tom was already halfway to the car.

A few seconds later, the joke was gone and Lee yelled out in panic. Sara truly hadn't been ready for the stairs, after how weak all the treatments had made her in the past month, and now she was _falling_. Lee didn't think. He just launched himself forward.

He managed to do what his instincts had screamed at him, and he got himself underneath her. There was, providentially, a landing on the stairs, and so they only went down about four or five of them. Lee was underneath her, desperately trying to cushion her body, and he took all the punishment. When they hit the landing and stopped, Sara was unharmed. Lee's back erupted into an explosion of pain, but he completely ignored it.

"Oh, Lee!" she gasped, struggling to her feet. "Oh, no, are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" he said, popping up beside her and carefully pulling her into his arms. "Sara, you scared me to death just now. You're not hurt?"

She shook her head, too emotional to speak. Lee's arms started to tremble with the throbbing pain that was coursing up his spine, but he just squeezed Sara a little tighter to make it stop.

"Thank God. Thank God you're okay. Sara, are you sure you want to go to school today? You can stay home and rest and try again tomorrow."

"No," she said in a tiny voice. "I need to get it over with."

By now, Tom had come rushing back to them, and he spoke as he was dashing up the last few steps. "Sara, no way. You're not going to school if you can't even stay upright."

"I need to, Tom," she said more stubbornly, stepping back from Lee. "I really think I need to go. This was just . . . I was only dizzy, for a second. Lee, I'm so sorry. I'm okay now. You're okay, right?" "Yeah, I am," he answered, frowning at her. "You sure about this?"

"They're expecting me," she said firmly, which only caused Tom to scowl at her.

"You let me worry about that kind of stuff, monster. You'd better be deciding this because you really do feel well enough to."

"I do," she insisted.

"Good. Then fix your scarf."

She was getting better about that, a little. She didn't burst into tears or anything, although she couldn't meet Lee's eyes while he helped her put the pink and gold scarf back to rights. He entertained a few doubts about how well she'd be able to keep up that front when her friends started asking questions, but he'd be there with her. Tom had talked to the school extensively about Sara's needs right now, and they'd fixed it so that Lee and Sara shared all their classes now. Lee had to make a change, as well as Sara. She took French, and he didn't, but he'd decided to give up his woodworking class to join her. He wasn't keen on learning French, but he didn't want Sara in the wood shop, either.

Tom and Lee each took one of Sara's arms, this time, and all three of them headed down the stairs together. Lee clenched his teeth and very carefully did _not_ limp.

"You know what?" Tom said thoughtfully as he helped her into the car. "Just morning classes, today. That's a good enough start. I'll pick you up when you have your lunch period."

Sara scowled at him.

"Lee, when's your lunch period?" Tom sighed.

"Tom, you have school, too," Sara spoke before Lee could.

"And?" he scoffed. "One bad semester is not going to destroy an entire political science degree. I really don't care if I fail a couple of classes right now."

"What would Dad say?" she shot back.

Tom's hands clenched down hard on the steering wheel and his jaw went tight. Lee squeezed Sara's hand to warn her that she'd better shut up. He had no idea what had happened to their father, but clearly it wasn't something Tom wanted brought up.

"Before he took off," Tom said in a nasty voice, "he would have told me that taking care of you was way more important than my grades. Now? Who knows what he'd say? That's assuming he's sober enough to be coherent."

The car fell into a deadly silence, but Lee's mind was spinning with questions. When Sara had talked about her dad before, she'd made him seem like a very nice person. She said he used to be a college professor. She hadn't said where he was now, though. Or why he was apparently some kind of drunk who'd abandoned his teenaged children. Well, you couldn't really call it abandonment when Tom was an adult and he and Yuri managed to give Sara a pretty good life. Well, a pretty good life before she'd got cancer, anyway. But how long had their father been gone? He knew their mother was dead, because Sara had told him that. But how long ago had that happened? It had been Sara, Tom, and Yuri next door when Lee and Averil had moved in a year ago.

When they got to the high school and the two teenagers exited the car, Tom just sat there for a moment.

"Lee?"

"Yes?" He resisted the urge to add, _"sir."_

"What time?"

Knowing she was going to be angry with him for this, but thinking that Tom was right about her ability to handle a full day, Lee said, "Twelve-thirty."

"Sara, be out here at twelve-thirty. I'll be taking you home then to rest up so you can try a full day tomorrow."

Sara scowled, but Lee took her arm. "I'll make sure of it, Tom."

"Thank you," Tom said grudgingly, and pulled away.

Sara smacked him with her free hand, but did not remove her arm from his grip. "Traitor."

"Just trying to take care of you."

"I know. Thank you, Lee."

"Anything, princess."

She grimaced. "That's supposed to be Finn's line."

Lee's smile dropped. "Yeah, well, Finn's not exactly . . ."

"You said he had been a little weird. He isn't getting any better?" "Caleb said to wait until he stops taking that pain medication. It sometimes screws people up."

"Tell me about it," Sara said in a wry voice, making Lee chuckle a little. He was glad she was up to making at least a feeble joke.

They headed for class, and no one really noticed them in the press of people making their way to their classes. Lee ignored the sharp, insistent pain in his back and legs so that he could shield Sara from being bumped by passing students. They stopped on the way so Sara could duck into the bathroom, and Lee slumped outside the door to wait for her.

He didn't see Rob coming until it was too late.

"Rob, _no_," he started to say, eyes wide, but Rob was already there, sweeping Lee's legs out from under him. Lee tried to twist and keep himself from falling, but it seemed he'd wrenched his shoulder this morning, as well. He landed on his back again and saw stars flash in his vision. He just lay there for a moment, choking back a sob.

"Uh, Lee?" Rob asked in bewilderment.

"Rob, I hate you," he breathed out. "Shit. Help me up before Sara comes out."

"I thought you said she was going to come today, but I didn't see her," Rob replied, holding out his hand and hauling Lee to his feet. He closed his eyes and whimpered on his way up. "Wow, man, I didn't think I actually hurt you . . . Sorry?"

"It wasn't you. I sort of fell down the stairs."

"Man, are you okay?"

"I don't think I am. But _don't_ tell Sara."

Sara exited the bathroom, her scarf wrapped around her head, and her face brave. Rob stared at her.

"Rob?" Lee said sharply.

"Huh? Oh, okay, Lee. Hi, Sara."

While Lee tried to stay on friendly terms with most of the school, Rob was his only real friend around here, so Sara already knew him pretty well. While she blushed at his perusal, she didn't get offended. It was just Rob.

"Hi," she replied softly.

"How are you?" he asked, suddenly stepping forward and giving her a hug so delicate it was practically nonexistent.

"I've been better," she joked. "But I'm doing okay. I'm ready for Geometry!"

Rob made a face. "Well, then you're doing better than me," he quipped. He took one side of her and Lee took the other. Lee marveled at the sight. These body snatchers worked quick. Somehow, when Lee was blinking, they'd taken Rob and replaced him with a gentle and sensitive guy.

Rob caught Lee staring at him as they escorted Sara into her seat. "What?" he blushed.

"Oh . . . nothing," Lee smirked, waiting until Sara wasn't looking to slide into his own seat. He didn't want her to look because he couldn't help the grimace of pain when he put weight on his bruised legs and felt pain go up his spine.

Sara ended up vacating her seat so she could go have a word with the teacher, who welcomed her back, inquired delicately after her, and professed utter acceptance of whatever work she would be able to complete. If she noticed how restlessly Lee shifted in his chair when she came back, she made no sign of it.

The entire morning went that way. People who knew Sara had become twice as compassionate overnight. They asked about her carefully and the girls who knew her well enough to hug her were gentle with their touches. Lee would tense up with each new encounter, then relax when it went well. There was that one girl from Sara's dance team who was an idiot, the one who'd asked if she'd get arrested for missing so much school—that one asked if Sara had shaved her head to protest or raise awareness of something. Lee almost slapped the girl, but Sara burst into giggles and said she was raising awareness about the dangers of the cafeteria's burritos. It reminded Lee all over again why he adored Sara.

By lunchtime, his back was stabbing misery and he thought if he had to sit down one more time that he'd let go and start screaming. So when Lee escorted Sara out to Tom's car, he slid into the backseat.

"What are you doing, kid?"

"Aren't you going back to school, Tom?"

"Well, yeah . . ."

"I just thought somebody should be home with her."

"I'm fine, Lee!" Sara said, turning around to frown at him. She must have seen something on his face, because her expression softened. "If you didn't feel well, you should have said something!"

"I didn't want to bother you," he mumbled. Not feeling well sounded like a good enough cover. It would provide him with an excuse to go home and crawl into bed with a bottle of aspirin for company.

"Oh, Tom, come on, he needs to go home," Sara chided her brother, who was still scowling into the rearview mirror.

Tom finally put the car in motion and took the two of them back to the apartment complex. He had to work after class, but he told Sara that Yuri would be home later. Lee stayed behind her as they mounted the stairs, worried that she would fall again. He didn't care if it _broke_ his back to catch her again, he'd still do it. But they got to her front door without incident, and he made to follow her inside.

"Lee," she said sternly. "I'm not even feeling that bad. I'm just going to do homework for a while. You should go home and rest."

"Okay," he said dully. "But you'll call me if you need anything?"

She hesitated, then nodded.

"Promise?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Lee, I promise," she said, and gave him a quick hug. He clenched his jaw and forced his expression into a smile. Then he dragged his sorry self home, took three of the extra-strength Excedrin they kept around, and fell into bed on his stomach. He slept like a log.

* * *

When Lee woke, he made his way to the bathroom and stripped down to his underwear. He turned his back to the mirror and looked over his shoulder, trying to get a look at himself. He wasn't really able to see, because turning his head made his whole body turn slightly sideways, but he could see enough to know that he was pretty banged up. The burning sensation from his hip was caused by a big scrape, and he was pretty sure there was another raw wound on his shoulder. He felt like he'd been run over by a truck.

Since he was the only one home, he left his clothes on the bathroom floor and went to his room for new ones.

Well, he'd thought he was the only one home. There was a sharp gasp behind him while he was walking, and he froze.

"Lee, what the hell happened?"

"Oh. Caleb," he greeted uneasily. "How was your game?"

Caleb's just-washed hair was spiky and messy, and he impatiently swept it out of his face with one hand while he was grabbing Lee's not-scraped shoulder with the other. Seeing that Caleb was not wearing a shirt actually made Lee feel more exposed, rather than less, since Caleb had about a billion pounds of muscle over him.

"My game was nothing. God, kid, what _happened_?"

"Is it really that bad? I couldn't see much."

"It's not bad if you're trying to dye yourself purple."

Lee grimaced. "Oh."

"You're one gigantic bruise. For the last time, what happened?"

Lee told him. Caleb stared at him for a minute, then he shook his head impatiently.

"Well, you can't just ignore it like this. I've got this stuff that the coach gave me for muscle injuries, sort of a cream. I'll get it for you."

Lee accepted the stuff and went to his room to try to put it on himself, but ran into an immediate problem. While he could twist himself enough to reach most of his back on a normal day, it wasn't happening today. His twisted shoulder wouldn't work for him, and it hurt too much to bend over to apply the cream to the backs of his legs. So he gave up and laid back down. After only a couple of minutes, he heard the front door open, some harsh whispering, and then there was a knock on his bedroom door.

"Yeah?" he called out.

Finn poked his head inside. "Caleb said to find out if you need help with that cream he gave you." He saw that Lee was just laying on his bed, and stepped fully into the room. "Guess you do."

Lee chuckled. "He's making you do it, huh?"

"Caleb's not the nurturing type," Finn said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and letting out a _whoof_ of pain. He clutched his hand to his side for a moment. "Well, we're a mess, aren't we?" he said, picking up the cream and scooping some out on his fingertips. He started spreading it over Lee's shoulders. For some reason, Lee didn't care if Finn did this. He probably _should_ care that he was mostly naked while a probably-gay man ten years older him was massaging his back . . . But he didn't, because it was Finn. Scary as it sounded, Lee really _was_ starting to think of Finn as his mom in some strange way.

Caleb appeared in the doorway. "Everything all right?"

Lee's fingers were clenched hard into his pillow, because even the light touch from Finn hurt. "Unh," he answered, which he supposed could be taken either way. Then he remembered the important thing about all of this. "You guys can't tell Sara. I don't want her to blame herself."

Caleb crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. "You don't think it would hurt worse for her to find out by accident?"

"Huh?"

"Maybe she'll feel bad if you tell her. But she'll definitely feel worse about the fact that you thought you had to lie to her."

"Didn't think—" he hissed in pain "—of that." He buried his face in his pillow for a moment. "Okay. But let me tell her."

"Hey, Lee. You want one of _my_ pills?"

"Don't you need them?"

"No," Finn said diffidently. "I'm not going to take them anymore. They make my brain too fuzzy."

Caleb snorted. "Like it wasn't to begin with?"

That was the moment where the normal Finn would have jumped on the joke and taken it far past Caleb's intention, and it would have ended with Caleb pissed off and possibly embarrassed, chasing Finn around the apartment attempting to punch him. This time, Finn just smiled a little and handed the cream to Lee.

"Your back is done. I'll let you handle the rest."

"Thank you," Lee said, feeling ten times better already. He rolled his wrenched shoulder and winced, which Caleb saw, and then he had to endure having an ice pack expertly made up and attached to his shoulder with an ace bandage. And Finn really did give him one of his pills.

"If you're not taking those anymore, I guess you'll be eating and sleeping again?" Caleb asked in a voice that made it sound like a threat.

Finn just smiled vaguely. "Let's hope so."

A minute later, when his mouth started to feel dry and he got intensely drowsy, Lee understood why Finn had been acting so weird. He would rather just live with the pain than take another dose of that crap.

* * *

Finn had no desire to go to bed that night, despite the fact that he was exhausted. He'd gone to class, come home and taken care of Lee, and then gone to work. All of it without any of the pain medication. The healing wound in his side felt like someone had lit a fire in it, and his ribs ached with a steady pain that made it hard to breathe. Every time he'd cleared dishes from a table at the café, he'd thought he was going to die.

But in the bedroom was Caleb, and Finn didn't want to be around those sharp, all-seeing eyes anymore.

"_The kid hurt himself helping Sara today, and he's in pretty bad shape. I gave him some stuff to put on his injuries, but he might need help."_

"_So go help him."_

"_You do it. It's all over his back."_

"_And . . .?"_

"_You're the one who always calls himself Lee's __mom__."_

"_True."_

"_You haven't done that lately."_

"_So?"_

"_So I don't know what's going on with you, but it's gotta stop. Just . . . Go take care of the kid, okay?"_

Caleb had no idea about anything, Finn told himself as he made the suddenly long trek to his room. He didn't know what he was talking about. Oh, really, who was he kidding? Caleb fucking knew everything.

Finn pretended all was right with the world as he slid into bed, pretended that he'd have no problem falling asleep tonight. Caleb probably wasn't fooled in the least— Finn had tried to pretend he was eating earlier and Caleb had seen right through that. The two of them didn't speak to one another. Caleb just turned his back on Finn and settled in, and Finn lay still on his back and willed himself to heal faster so he could sleep on his stomach again.

To his surprise, he fell asleep pretty fast. He must have been more tired than he knew, or, God forbid, getting used to sleeping in this position. Not that falling asleep was doing him much good. It was anything but restful.

_He was drowning._

_He couldn't breathe. The warm liquid surrounded him, creating an eerie silence broken only by the sound of his flailing limbs swishing through it. It pressed against his face, inviting him to breathe it in, to take it deep into his starved lungs. It would all be over, if he did that._

_He was afraid. How could he not be? He was only a child, he didn't know what had happened, how he had gotten here. Why would he want to die? He mustn't breathe it in, even though it enveloped him and begged him to let go._

_He couldn't die. There was someone counting on him. He was probably afraid right now, wondering where he was. He had to go to him._

_He tried to swim, his lungs burning for air. His head finally, finally broke the surface, and he flung himself up with a gasp. The movement sprayed thick red drops all over, and he realized that even if he wasn't drowning, he was still covered in all that blood._

_He was sitting in the bathtub. The bathtub filled with red, red blood. He was staring right at her, where she slumped against the opposite side of the tub. Her eyes were closed now, her face relaxed. Peaceful. She'd never looked peaceful before. Her arms floated in the water, still releasing a weak trickle of the blood that was all over him. It was on his face, in his hair, and he started to desperately claw at himself, but all he could do was smear it around._

_Then her eyes opened. She looked at him. "It's all your fault," she said._

"AGH!"

Finn sat up, thrashing at whatever was covering him, trying to get it off. The blood was still all over him, it wasn't coming off, oh god oh god get it off please get it off—

"Hey!"

The exclamation came from nearby, and his eyes finally took in the room around him. His bedroom at the apartment. Caleb laying right over there, propped up on his elbow, a look of real alarm on his face.

It was his sheets, his arms had gotten tangled in his sheets. And his wild movement had set off a wave of pain in his ribs that left him crippled and gasping for breath.

"Shit, shit, shit," he whispered, nausea rolling in his stomach. He swung his legs around and put his feet on the floor, but he hurt too much to stand up.

"You never used to have nightmares. You've had like, one, the entire time we've shared this room."

"Your keen powers of observation are astounding."

"Is it dreams about Seth or something? Getting shot?"

Finn stared down at the floor, nauseous and dizzy with a strange vertigo. The floor was moving, it seemed like. He thought about his dream of moments earlier, and choked.

"No. I'd forgotten— what she looked like— Oh, god, I'm gonna throw up." He stood up, which caused Caleb to stand up as well.

"What? Who?"

"No, don't ask me . . ." he whispered. He stared at the door to their room, which seemed awfully far away. His nightmares before now had been sort of vague, unreal, stuff he didn't remember when he woke up. This one was staying with him. And no wonder, since it was something that had actually happened. Well, he hadn't been _in_ the bathtub with her, not in reality, but he'd _seen_ . . . "I'd forgotten," he said again. "I made myself forget. But now I remember."

"What the hell are you talking about, dumbass?" Caleb snarled, his frustration over having to just stand there making itself known.

Finn snapped out of it, as much as he could. "It's the blood," he said with an expression that must have looked like a truly horrifying smile. His face didn't seem to know what to do, any more than his brain did. "I think seeing all that blood coming out of me is what made me remember."

He headed for the door, and Caleb blocked his way. "What are you doing?"

"I need some water or something. Move, Caleb."

Caleb moved, although he didn't look happy about it. Finn didn't care. He didn't need water, he needed the "or something" part. He rummaged in the kitchen and unearthed a bottle of Sailor Jerry, which was good enough. He took it to the table and buried his nightmare under an avalanche of material about pre-Conquest England.

Caleb was very grumpy the next morning, even more so than usual. But Finn gave him a run for his money.

* * *

_**A/N:** The picture on Finn's phone at the beginning of the chapter is this picture. I love this picture: _http:(double slash)img377(dot)imageshack(dot)us(slash)i(slash)kurofyece3(dot)jpg

_And you guys do not know just how much exhaustive research I have put into this story. Every. Single. Aspect. Of. This. Story. Case in point? Professor Jarbel Rodriguez. I actually got on San Francisco State University's website, found the directory of faculty for the history department, and found the guy that I thought would be most likely to oversee Finn's graduate work. His name and identity have zero importance in this story, but there you have it. There may be something wrong with me._

_Anyway, sorry if I forgot to respond to your review this week, gentle readers. It's been hectic. I feel like I was able to reply to most people, but if I missed you, it's not because I don't like you!  
_


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

_March 2__nd_

"Averil, you're not getting sick are you?"

Averil exerted an enormous amount of willpower, and stopped coughing well before his body was ready to stop. He looked up at Sunny and grinned. "Of course not! I'm fine!"

She smiled back at him and resumed eating—he'd made things very simple today and packed some sandwiches and sliced fruit—but she looked at Zack and became troubled again. Averil scowled at his own sandwich when he took a bite. She shouldn't be taking her cues from _Zack_ of all people. Zack thought Averil was some little weakling and acted like coughing must be the end of the world. The guy just needed to mind his own business.

But he didn't want Sunny to worry about him, either. He'd better not cough in front of her, if he could help it. Whoops, now she was talking to Zack and he'd missed something.

"It looks like a really good movie," she was saying, and Averil immediately took interest. This was possible date material, and he always paid attention to possible date material. "I want to go see it soon, but Colleen is so busy right now. I guess I'll have to wait until—"

"I'd go with you, Sunny!" Averil announced, not caring in the least what the movie was or if he would hate it.

"But aren't you helping your friend Laura when you're not at work?" Sunny asked. "I wouldn't want you to disappoint her on _my_ account." Her eyes were wide with innocent horror at the very thought and _it was just so darned cute_.

_Rein it in_, he told himself sternly when he saw that Zack was smirking at him. Plus, Sunny was right about him spending all his free time helping Laura work on her house. Not that Yvonne left him with a lot of free time.

"Well, in that case, I'll let her know that I need an afternoon off soon," he smiled, sketching a little bow in Sunny's direction.

He excused himself after seeing Sunny's smile, because he could feel a big coughing fit coming on and he didn't want either of them to give him those concerned looks while he was doing it. So he'd picked up a little bug, so what?

* * *

"I'm here, Laura!" Averil called as he bounded up the porch steps. He knew she usually had a cup of tea and a good book in the front room while she waited for him, so she'd hear him coming. As he'd thought, she opened the door almost immediately.

"Hello, dear," she smiled at him. "Come on in."

"How are you?" he asked, giving her a brief hug.

"Just waiting all day to see you," she smiled. "How was school?"

He shrugged. It was school. You did your work, and occasionally got a moment with your friends, and did more work. Boring. "It was great! Hey, I only have an hour today, so let's get to that closet!"

She admitted that the closet door had fallen off its track months ago and she just couldn't figure out how to get it back on. She didn't think she was strong enough to lift it by herself, anyway. Together, though, they managed to get it back in place. Averil could feel himself needing to cough, but he controlled it carefully. Laura didn't need to know that he had gotten a bug.

"What was the most interesting thing that happened to you today?"

This was Laura's standard question for him, asked in a half-teasing tone. She said too many kids these days were too discontented by their lives, and she had to make sure that Averil appreciated the little things. It was half game and half mothering, and Averil loved it.

Feeling sort of shy all of a sudden, he told her about wanting to go with Sunny to the movies.

"It would be a date, right?" he asked with wide eyes. "I've never _been_ on a date, I wouldn't even know what to do!" Full of anxiety now, he went to the room that Laura was keeping all their tools and supplies in, and picked up a screwdriver and a can of WD-40 to fix a squeaky hinge. "I'd make an idiot of myself! I have to be here, helping you, anyway."

He then started coughing, and he was glad he was already sitting down in front of the door with the bad hinge. He smothered it against his arm and tried to catch his breath.

"Are you all right, dear?"

"Fine," Averil waved it off, trying not to show her that he was in pain. "I'll just tell her I can't go."

Laura's hands fell on his shoulders when he settled himself to work the door hinge. "Don't be silly, Averil," she chided, smiling her soft smile at him. "Everyone has to have their first date _some_ time."

"But what if she doesn't think it's a date?" he wailed. "People who are just friends go to the movies! She already said she doesn't want a boyfriend."

Laura squeezed his shoulders reassuringly. "So you're friends, going to the movies. That's a wonderful way to begin something, don't you think? Later, when she feels ready for a boyfriend, there you'll be—someone she already knows and likes spending time with. Right?"

He hadn't thought of that. Laura laughed and ruffled his hair. "Come here, dear. Stand up for a minute."

He did so. "What?"

"I'm going to show you how to treat a girl when you're on a date."

Averil grinned when he saw the teasing light in Laura's eyes, and subjected himself to her superior knowledge. His hour was not spent on fixing her house up, but on being led through the tricky steps of removing a girl's coat, pulling out her chair, and reading the signs that she might like to hold hands.

* * *

_March 3__rd_

"Aren't you going to practice?" Averil asked Zack suspiciously when the taller boy exited the bus with him.

"No," he answered.

And apparently that was it. No further explanation. Well, whatever. Maybe he just didn't want to practice on his birthday.

"You're working for Yvonne today, right?" Zack said after a moment of silence.

"Yeah," he said, unable to help a slight pout. "I wanted to help Laura with patching some holes in the concrete around her back door, but Yvonne's a slave driver." Was it just him, or did Zack look sort of relieved by that? Again, whatever. How it was any of Zack's business was well beyond him, anyway. "But I'm going to sit with Karen until her mom comes, and Yvonne can just wait."

Zack followed him, but that was less weird. If he wasn't going to archery practice, he often came over to say hello to Karen. He usually just sat there and watched her and Averil talk, but Karen liked him for some reason nonetheless.

"Hi, guys!" she greeted them enthusiastically, jumping up from her seat to give them both a hug as soon as they were close enough. "Happy birthday, Zack!"

"Thanks," he said simply.

Oscar was out in the yard with a couple of roughhousing boys, playing some kind of game that involved two soccer balls and a lot of shrieking. He straightened up briefly and nodded to the teens, then resumed the game. He must have gotten over his suspicions about their intent.

"Hi, honey," Averil said, returning the hug. "How are you?"

"Good," she answered. "The weather's getting better!"

This was true—it was starting to get warmer outside and the rains seemed to be drying up. Not that it was really helping Averil, since he'd already caught this damn bug and it was persistently getting worse instead of better. But he wasn't going to bother poor little Karen about it.

"It sure is. But that means you and I will have to start being careful of the fog in a couple of months," he added sternly, tapping her nose with his finger. "Right?"

She giggled and tugged him over to sit on the wall beside her. "Right!" She started kicking the wall, sending up red flags. She did that when something bothered her. "But it's not bad because I'll be inside all the time. I have to practice lots and lots when I'm not in school." Averil shared a glance with Zack, seated on Karen's other side, over her head. She didn't notice, and went on talking. "But that's okay, because I like it and I want to get better at it."

"With all the practicing you do, you must be the best in the world!" Averil said, unable to help pulling her against him and hugging her. He just had this mental image of shackles on her ankles, keeping her chained to the piano stool. Her cold-hearted bitch of a mother might just be capable of something like that.

"Hey, guess what I have for you?" Averil asked, digging into his backpack. He'd put them in a hard plastic container instead of a bag so they wouldn't get smashed. "I made these yesterday."

Karen took the little box of cookies with a grin. "Are they chocolate chip?"

"They are," he answered with gravity.

Karen had admitted yesterday that chocolate chip cookies were her favourite treat, but that her mother didn't let her have _anything_ anymore. Averil, who had been clandestinely talking to her for weeks now, was of the opinion that what Karen's mother didn't know wouldn't hurt her. It seemed like the only time Karen was allowed to just be a child and be herself was the ten minutes they spent together. He'd bake her cookies every damn day if he had to, which is what he'd told Zack last night when Zack had questioned his sanity about staying up so late to bake on a school night. Zack had this insane idea that what Averil did was any of his business or something.

As soon as Zack had gone, Averil had started making his birthday cake. Maybe he didn't want to be Zack's dearest and best friend, but he could still make him a cake. The cookies were a good cover story.

Karen popped open the box and took a delicate nibble on the edge of a cookie. Her eyes flew wide. "They're so _good_," she said rapturously, and proceeded to devour it so quickly she might as well have just inhaled it.

Averil laughed and petted her hair out of her face so she wouldn't eat _that_ while she was consumed by her cookie frenzy. "I'm glad you like them."

"Did you really make them for me?"

"Well . . . I made _those_ ones for you. I made some for Sunny, and I'm going to bring some to Laura, too."

Karen's feelings were not hurt in the least, even though Averil had wondered if they would be. She turned to Zack. "Did he make some for you, too?" The tone of her voice made it clear that she was very concerned that Zack get a cookie. Which was the only reason that Averil gritted his teeth and did not object.

"Yeah," was Zack's answer. It was more like he'd stolen some, but if he got the chance to eat a couple, then it was just semantics, really. He was getting his own cake, after all.

"Hey, Averil," Karen said, turning around again, apparently satisfied that Zack had tasted the amazing treat—which she was clutching to her chest like it was the greatest gift she'd ever received. "Do you want to hear me play the piano?"

"What? Of course!"

She looked down at her lap shyly. "I have a recital at the end of the month. You could . . . You could come."

"Can I?" he asked with delight. He was very gratified that she was opening up to him so much. If he got to be in this part of her life, then he could go that much further in eradicating her mother's cruel influence. "I'd love to!" He grabbed her into another hug.

"Zack, will you come, too?" she asked the other boy.

Averil was starting to be able to read Zack's almost-expressions. That slight widening in his eyes meant he was startled by the request.

He nodded. "Yeah, sure."

Averil deflated at that, but very selflessly did not shout that Zack couldn't come. If it was what Karen wanted . . .

"Yay!" Karen cheered, then she suddenly went pale and shoved the rest of the cookies into Averil's surprised hands. "Mother's coming. Don't tell her I invited you!"

Averil leapt over the wall, grabbing Zack by the shoulder and dragging him along, so they could pretend they were playing with Oscar and the little boys. Oscar gave him a sharp look but said nothing. The kids, who were used to the sight of Averil and Zack if not their participation, enthusiastically began pelting them with the two soccer balls they were kicking around.

"Young lady, _what_ is on your face?" was Karen's mother's greeting, heard clearly over the boys' laughter.

Oh, god. It was chocolate. Oh, _shit_.

"Nothing, Mother, just some dirt," Karen said calmly in response, and the car door closed.

Averil risked a glance over his shoulder to see that Karen's mother did not seem pleased by the answer. Her face was hard and her mouth was open in a harsh way as the car drove off.

"Hey!" Zack said suddenly, and sprang forward, knocking away the ball that had almost hit Averil while he wasn't looking. He blinked in surprise.

"Don't you want to play anymore?" one of the boys—Thomas, Averil thought his name was—asked him.

"Uh, I would, but I've got to get to work now," Averil said. Which was true. Yvonne could look out the window and see him just horsing around out here, and she'd come up with some ridiculously difficult recipe to make for dinner as punishment.

"Yeah, I've got homework," Zack said.

"Okay, bye!" Thomas said cheerfully, and aimed the ball at Oscar's head.

Averil scowled as Zack followed him across the street, but said nothing.

* * *

Zack generally found it wise to keep silent around Averil, which made it easy to simply observe his behaviour. He'd been noticing something about the other boy, and sitting with Karen had confirmed it. Averil was a physically affectionate person. Zack had at first thought that it was something he forced himself to do for Karen's sake, but observation over the last few weeks was telling him otherwise.

He was always hugging Karen, but he also would touch her hair, and that thing when he'd tapped her on the nose was way too natural to be something Averil had thought about. He and Grandfather would get in these affectionate shoving matches sometimes, and Averil didn't mind if Grandfather hugged him. Averil would hug Sunny, too, and Zack had very stealthily crept around the corner of the street one day to watch him work with Laura. They embraced, talked like a couple of girlfriends with their heads close together and giggling, and Laura would touch his shoulder or he'd reach over and squeeze her hand.

Averil was just that kind of person, it seemed.

The way he held himself so far away from Zack was ridiculously noticeable. His penchant to touch people was far more conspicuous by its absence between them than Averil seemed to think.

Zack didn't know what to make of it, but then, he never knew what to make of Averil anyway. He had no idea why Averil was so hostile toward him. He didn't want to hear Zack's opinion on anything, he didn't want Zack to worry about his health, he didn't care about how Zack's day had been when they were sitting around talking with Grandfather . . . and he _clearly_ did not want to touch Zack, God forbid. Zack didn't get it. He hadn't _done_ anything to the kid. All he'd ever done was pick him up off the street and shove his bed against the wall to make room for a second one.

But he did remember that Averil hadn't complained, that one time he'd had a panic attack and Zack had sat with him and calmed him down. Maybe it just took something like that to bring his walls down? But he'd seemed to think that Zack was someone named Lee. So it wasn't that his walls had gone down for _Zack_, Averil had just thought he was someone else.

Zack felt a moment of deep envy regarding this mysterious Lee person. Whoever he was, Averil must get along with him. It would be a lot easier to share a room with the guy if he could manage that.

Well, he didn't need Averil's approval to keep an eye on him, did he? He followed the other boy across the street, just to make sure he arrived there okay. Averil might think he hadn't noticed that the cough was getting worse, but then Averil seemed to think he was an idiot. He'd have to be an idiot, to not notice how sick his roommate was. He hadn't even gone to archery today, just because he was worried that Averil would do something stupid like go try to work on Laura's house before work. He was fully prepared to sling the other boy over his shoulder and carry him away if he tried anything like that.

"See you later," Averil said once they hit the sidewalk on the other side of the street. He sounded breathless as he turned away.

"Yeah," he returned, but he didn't turn for his own front door. He watched him walk to Yvonne's, concerned by that sound in his voice. So he saw how Averil leaned against her door and started coughing so much that he actually went to his knees for a minute. It sounded terrible, like something inside his chest was ripping, and the pain on his face was undisguised since he thought no one could see him. Zack was seriously alarmed.

Then Averil jumped back up and entered the store, not seeing that Zack was still on the sidewalk. "Hey, guys!" he called out as he closed the door, his voice pathetic and hoarse.

Zack was going to tell Grandfather, he decided. Grandfather would make a doctor's appointment, and between the two of them, they could force Averil to go. He'd get pissy about it, but what else were they supposed to do?

* * *

Averil didn't really care if Yvonne saw him coughing, so he pretty much just let go and let the cold he'd caught have its way with him while he worked. He didn't want Laura or Karen to worry, and he was pissed when Zack did it, but Yvonne was just his boss. She wouldn't worry, anyway.

Still, the third time he'd straightened up from a coughing fit, he found her in the entrance of the hallway, a sheaf of papers she was filing in one hand.

"Perhaps you should save the dusting for another time," was all she said before retreating again.

Averil looked at his watch and realized it was time to start making dinner anyway. It was taking him _forever_ to take the items down from each shelf, catalogue them, dust them, and put them back, because Yvonne kept him so busy with cooking weird things for her. It was like the shop was only here to amuse her or something—Mike had already said that she made most of her money from the apartments. He still planned to completely rearrange the store into an order that made some kind of _sense_, but that was a long way off unless she stopped making him clean her house on Saturdays.

Still, he admitted as he flipped open a recipe book and started getting out ingredients, at least her capricious and greedy attitude about dinner was making him a better cook. He was learning all sorts of crap because of her demands for soufflés and sushi. She was extremely disappointed that he wasn't old enough to buy alcohol, but she had no qualms about sending him to the store for anything else that came into her head.

"Is stir fry okay?" he called, wincing at how raw his voice sounded. He was too tired to acquiesce to any of her weird requests today. He still had to go home and help celebrate Zack's birthday, after all. Not that he was looking forward to it. Zack was a weird guy—all he wanted to do was to have a late dinner after Averil got home. Not a party, not dinner out, nothing but a piece of cake with Harold and Averil. He liked things simple, apparently. Sunny had brought muffins decorated with candles to their first class of the morning, but even that had made him look uncomfortable.

If it had been Averil's birthday, he would have picked somebody better to share it with. He couldn't see how Zack considered him good company. He was a neurotic mess—an overstressed, exhuasted, and neurotic mess—and he didn't get why _anyone_ would want to share their birthday with him.

"You look deep in thought," Yvonne said, coming right up behind him.

"GAH!" he shouted, then broke off into coughing again. Man, how could it still be getting _worse _after over a week? How long was a cold supposed to last, anyway? "Why must— you— do that?" he whined, eyes watering as he made a pathetic attempt to glare at her. She truly enjoyed sneaking up behind him, almost as much as she enjoyed making him uncomfortable.

"Have you been to a doctor?" Yvonne said with a frown.

"No, I'm fine," he said, waving his hand to dismiss the idea. "It's just a cold."

Yvonne started to say something, then stopped herself.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said with a smile. "I just think that you ought to be careful. What would I do without you around here?"

"Starve," he snorted as he washed his hands again and resumed dinner preparations. "You like bean sprouts, right?"

"Yes, please," she said cheerfully, simply watching him cook with a lazy air. Well, good for her that she just got to stand around doing nothing. Oh, actually, he supposed it _was_ a good thing. If she started doing this for herself, he'd have to go find another job. Those weren't exactly lying around waiting to be picked up, these days. "So what were you thinking about when I came in?"

"Huh?" he responded, then realized what she was talking about and ducked his head to hide from her. They'd had a deep conversation or two before now, but he didn't really want to talk about this. "Nothing."

She was still smiling, but her eyes were slightly predatory. "Really? Nothing at all?"

Who knew what she was going to imagine was on his mind? It could be something _gross_.

Haltingly, he told her, throwing vegetables into the frying pan as he did so. He didn't look up while he spoke, but he did tell her. It was just how quiet she was, and how interested she seemed to be in what he was saying. She'd given him advice about not offering Harold money anymore, and what to do with Karen, so he was starting to trust her. She could be surprisingly wise, for a crazy person. He ended up saying far more than he'd meant to, because he really did wonder if she'd have some kind of answer. He finally cut himself off and looked up.

"Zack doesn't think you're weak," was the first thing she said.

"How would you know what Zack thinks?" he muttered, deeply pained that she picked that out as the important thing.

"Really, Averil, what did those poor vegetables ever do to you?" she chided, making him stop banging things around. "I've spoken to Harold, that's how. We've been neighbours for years. Besides, you work here now."

"So?"

"So," she repeated, starting to enjoy herself, "Zack's come over here to see me since then, to make sure he can trust me with you."

"WHAT?" Averil squawked. "Now he thinks he's my DAD, or what?"

She fixed him with a very plain look. "I don't think he feels very paternal toward you, no."

Averil could feel himself blushing to the roots of his hair. "Wh-wha-what is that supposed to mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything," she said in a breezy way. "I just think you should pay more attention to the way he treats you. He always needs to know where you are and what you're doing, and he constantly offers to help you or accompany you. When you were missing all day, while I was out of town . . ." She didn't even need to finish that sentence, she clearly knew about Zack searching for him and hurting himself, and she knew that Averil knew. "He wants to protect you."

Averil was absolutely not ready to face where she was directing this. "And you still say that he doesn't think I'm weak? If he feels like he has to do that?"

"It has nothing to do with how strong or weak you are," she said. "It has to do with the fact that he _wants_ to do it. He has no reason to, other than his own desire."

God, did she have to use _that_ word?

"Well, it doesn't make any sense," he muttered, trying to reject as much of what she was saying as he possibly could. "I could disappear tomorrow and it wouldn't effect anybody."

Her teasing smile fell away. "You really believe that, Averil?"

He shook his head. "I do what I can for them, since I'm here, but it wouldn't be that bad for anyone if I was gone."

Yvonne was staring at him with such shock that it made no sense to him. He couldn't tell what she was thinking at all. Then she murmured, "For a minute, you looked just like—" Then her eyes suddenly blazed with urgency, and she crossed the kitchen to cup Averil's face in her hands and make him look directly at her. "Your life's value can't be measured by you alone," she said very seriously. "No one's life is so cheap. You have people in your life who care about you a great deal, who would be _devastated_ if you disappeared. You've never been able to believe it, you've always been so ignorant about your value in other's lives. But you need to start realizing something. The way that you are seen by the people who love you is just as important as the way you see yourself. It's just _selfish_ to think otherwise."

"Selfish?" Averil repeated in surprise.

"Selfish," she repeated, her fingers bruising his face. "The way you devalue yourself is selfish. It's selfish to think you're so useless that you could just disappear and no one would notice. Selfish to step out in front of a car and think you're so invisible that the driver won't mind. Selfish to know that someone feels something for you, and believe you're so worthless that you can just reject them out of hand."

Averil stepped back from her, sickened all the way down to his core. Selfish? He'd never thought— But he was sickened because he thought she might be right. Maybe he was that awful.

He grasped the edge of the counter with sweaty palms. He thought about what she'd just said. Then something about it struck him.

"Always?" he said.

"Hmm?"

"You said always. You said I've always ignored my value . . ." He trailed off, his brain racing backward, to that night they'd met, in the Williams' living room. That night that simply shaking her hand, trying to wonder why she was so odd, had set off such a clangor in his brain. It had hurt, the way it hurt to think of his blind eye or what had made him walk up this street that fateful day. Meeting her? No. Not meeting her, after all.

"You know me," he breathed, pressing himself against the counter and gripping it hard. "Oh my god," he whimpered. "We know each other already. We— we— who are you, Yvonne? I know you, don't I? Oh my god, you asked if I remembered you, and . . ." He stared at her, at the way she stood there calm and implacable, poker-faced. "Why didn't you say something?"

"You think I should have?"

"You know me and you didn't say a word. You just let me go on thinking . . ."

"You said it yourself, Averil: you don't _want_ to remember."

"But you know _who I am_," he said, not aware that he was pleading with her. "I said the name Lee once. Who's Lee?"

"So you _do_ want to remember, now?"

"_Who am I?_" he screamed at her.

"You don't need to ask me. You could remember whenever you wish to." Her face was stony. "But you would rather forget, so you can avoid the pain you caused by what you did. And you would rather believe you have nowhere else to go, so you don't have to face the fact that you _want_ to be here, with that person. As long as you keep avoiding those things, there's no reason for me to answer you."

The stir fry was burning. Averil shut the stove off and fled. His mind reeled with shock. She knew him. Yvonne knew him. She hadn't said anything about it. She knew where he'd come from, and maybe even _why_ . . . why he'd done this. She should have told him!

_Selfish_, the night air whispered around him.

_You would rather forget. Rather forget the pain you caused._ The words were following him, beating him down._ People who would be devastated if you disappeared. No one's life is so cheap. It's just selfish to think otherwise._

_Selfish . . ._

_You don't want to remember . . ._

Averil had reached the door of the home he lived in now. The home it would seem he had chosen, despite having another somewhere. He couldn't let on about any of this. He had to go in there, help with dinner, frost a cake, pretend everything was fine. It was Zack's birthday. It would be _selfish_ to let him down.

* * *

_March 4__th_

Yvonne seemed content just to have had her say. Did she know that Averil was in turmoil? Did she know how her words had haunted him since last night?

Apparently not, since she and Mike were back to their usual routine of drinking too much and teasing him nonstop. The ball was clearly in his court. And he didn't know what to do with it. The real problem was that he'd have to accept all of what she said, not just part of it. If it was true that he was selfish and didn't want to remember, then it was also true that he'd chosen this life. And that the people in his life now considered him to be important, and would hate to lose him.

Would it be selfish of him to want to stay here, like this? To say that he liked working for Yvonne because of how she had come to rely on him, enjoyed the time he spent with Laura because he took away her loneliness, wanted to see Sunny every day because he could make her laugh? To still want to help Karen and give her the love and attention she deserved? To say that Harold calling him "grandson" was an incredible gift and it would be wrong to turn it down? To say . . . to say that for all it was awkward and irritating and . . . Well. That topic could wait.

He decided it as he made the very short trek home from work. He didn't want to remember, and maybe that was selfish, but it was also not selfish, at the same time. There was a lot in his new life, and the thought of losing any of it was too much to contemplate. He didn't know what waited for him in his past. But he couldn't risk that it would steal him away from this. It was who he was, now. He was learning to like himself.

He coughed weakly into his sleeve as he read the note on the fridge from Harold, claiming he was playing cards with a couple of old friends and wouldn't be home until late. Sad, how he felt relieved that he wasn't required to talk about his day and give Harold some of his time. He was too tired, sick, and confused for that.

He felt like he'd made a decision, and he trudged wearily to his room, eager to rush through his homework and get some rest. He hadn't been able to breathe all day, and he suspected that it wasn't a looming panic attack but a serious illness he'd developed. He'd had to give up on hiding his cough, putting up with the worst looks from Sunny and Zack. It felt like an animal was trying to claw its way out of his chest.

He was coughing again as he entered the room, and Zack looked up from his own homework with sharp, anxious eyes. Averil had to stop and lean on the doorframe, and he met Zack's concern with a bleary look. It hurt, _god it hurt_, and he couldn't seem to stop.

"Hey," Zack said, standing up.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe at all past the coughing.

"Averil?"

Why did it have to hurt so much, too? He saw spots swimming around in his eyes, and heard a strange rushing noise. Things were . . . tilting sideways?

"Averil!" Zack shouted as he slid down to the floor.

He tried to breathe. The edge of his vision had gotten very dark, like the lights had been dimmed. With a strange burst of clarity, he felt tears on his cheeks. The dark edge grew steadily and eclipsed everything and Averil didn't feel anything after that.

* * *

Averil woke up when he felt someone's hands on him. They were dragging at him, lifting him . . . He opened his eyes. Zack was pulling him out of the car and picking him up. He was carrying him. There was a reddish-tinted light bathing them.

"Where are we?" he whispered.

"You passed out," Zack answered.

Averil squinted, trying to read the sign above the door they were approaching, but he wasn't wearing his glasses. "I can't see." He coughed, and then gasped in pain.

"It's urgent care."

"No, I don't want that," Averil protested, and it finally registered that Zack was _carrying_ him. In his _arms_. "Put me down," he said, struggling.

"No," Zack said stubbornly, and they passed through the door.

Averil started coughing again, and it hurt like the world was ending.

He heard the word "hospital" past the roaring in his ears, and he managed to choke out that he didn't need to go to the hospital. When his vision started to go dark again, he was almost grateful and he let it take him again.

* * *

Things happened in little flashes after that. Averil was feverish and in pain and horribly tired, and nearly blind on top of it. He found it too hard to focus. He mumbled answers to the questions the doctor asked. His attention was caught by his own teeth chattering for a while. A bad coughing fit made him lay down on the examination table and curl up in pain.

The doctor gave up on him and talked to Zack, which he noticed but could do nothing about. There were some papers that the doctor gave Zack. Averil walked to the car, but he was leaning on the other boy heavily. He lost a few seconds in blackness, then came to when the car was moving. He didn't think he'd remembered to close his door, so Zack must have done it for him.

There was another car pulling up to the house when they got there. Harold was getting out of it. He was running toward them. Averil had to focus all his attention on getting inside, and he didn't hear what Harold and Zack were saying, although he recognized the sharpness and anxiety in their voices.

He somehow made his way to his bed and fell into it. Someone else took off his shoes. He closed his eyes and went away again.

* * *

_March 5__th_

Harold had kept his eye on Averil all day, while Zack was at school. When Zack got home, Harold reported that the other boy had slept off and on the whole day, only rousing long enough to be coaxed into drinking some water and taking some medicine. He was still asleep when Zack came in, as quietly as possible. He put down his backpack, stared a moment at the flushed face that frowned even in sleep, then he crept out again.

He left the house, walked down the street, and around the corner. Harold had already gone over to talk to Yvonne and make sure she knew that Averil was sick and wouldn't be at work. But Zack had thought of something else that needed to be taken care of.

Laura.

He didn't think about how it would hurt her. He couldn't afford to think about that. He had to trust her to understand. She was clearly fond of Averil, so of course she would do the right thing. He was resolute as he went straight to her front door and knocked. She answered quickly, obviously she'd been waiting for Averil. She was confused to find Zack, instead, furrowing her brow and looking over his shoulder as she said,

"Yes, can I help you?"

"Averil has pneumonia."

She stood there and did nothing but blink for a minute, obviously processing. Then . . . "Will he be okay?"

It was her first question, and that impressed him. He wasn't really sure what to expect out of her. "Yeah. They didn't admit him to the hospital, they're letting us take care of him at home. He's been sleeping all day."

"He must be bored half to death," she said with a fond little smile. "He's not one to sit still for long, is he?"

Zack contemplated this, and realized it might be a good idea to load Averil up with distractions to keep him from getting out of bed too early. He and Sunny were already gathering Averil's homework, but he'd zoom right through that, and then he'd want to clean the house or something.

"Let me know when he's well enough so I can stop by and visit him," Laura requested. "I want to talk to him and make sure he knows not to come back to work until he's healthy."

Zack took in a breath and let it out, and decided there was no way to make this easy. "Ma'am? Averil got sick from working here."

"He did?" she responded, confused.

"He didn't tell you, did he?"

"Tell me what?"

"That he's got pretty severe asthma. Working outside was making it so he couldn't breathe, and an infection got into his lungs." The horror and shock on her face spoke for itself, and Zack was reassured that she hadn't known. He was glad she hadn't been using Averil without caring about the consequences. "He can't work here anymore."

Laura looked deeply upset. "If I try to have him over, he'll insist on working," she said softly. "He's like that."

"I know," Zack answered. She was getting there on her own, and he was just going to stand here and make sure she arrived at the conclusion he himself had come to.

"I need to sell the house," she whispered, her face closing off in her grief. "I should have done it already, but I . . . I was trying to hold onto something that was already taken away from me. I felt that it was wrong to linger on the past, but I did it anyway, and now I've hurt that dear boy." She looked up at Zack with tears in her eyes. "I'll put the house up for sale, and I'll try to be gone by the time Averil's recovered."

He nodded at her. He fought to hold onto his emotions and the conviction he'd arrived here with. Laura looked lost and broken, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her like he'd have held his own mother and try to reassure her. But she'd inadvertently harmed Averil, and that was the priority. Still . . .

"Thank you. For understanding."

She suddenly took his hand and gave it a little squeeze. "You didn't introduce yourself, but I know who you are."

He raised his eyebrows, looking at their joined hands, and said nothing.

"He talks about you all the time."

"Complains, you mean," he said gruffly.

"Of course, but I'm not blind. He comes up with all these reasons to hate you because he hates feeling insecure . . . and that means he's thinking about you all the time."

Zack grunted in a very noncommittal way and pulled his hand free.

"Zack. Take care of him?"

"Yeah," he answered, and strode off her porch, anxious to get home and see how the idiot was doing. That lady might think she knew Averil, but she had no idea what she was talking about when it came to this. Especially now. Averil was never going to forgive him for coming here and talking to her. He'd think Zack had betrayed him. Laura might think otherwise, but she was wrong. Hope hurt, so Zack didn't need it.

* * *

_**A/N:** Wow. *blushes furiously* If you guys keep leaving reviews like those, I'm going to start getting ideas in my head about being real writer or something . . ._

_Thank you. So much. The encouragement is more than I could have hoped for.  
_


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

_March 8th_

Lee kept his arm around Sara as they navigated the school hallways, sheltering her from the jostling students and teachers who tried to get to class on time. It made him sort of sad to do it, even though he tended to welcome any excuse to hold her. Last semester, she had elbowed her way through this on her own. She probably still would right now, but he wouldn't allow her frail body to get knocked around like that. His own body was another story, of course.

"Lee, don't," Sara was saying, trying to pull away from him. "You'll make your shoulder worse."

Lee had seen the wisdom of not keeping secrets from Sara, even though he hated the idea that she might feel guilty about it, so he'd told her that he'd hurt himself catching her when she fell. She had been deeply upset and tried to make him promise not to do things like that, but it was a promise he couldn't make. She'd even lifted up the back of his shirt to look at the bruises, making them both blush red as fire engines. He'd lied and said it wasn't as bad as it looked.

"My shoulder's fine," he said with sincerity. A week and a half later, his entire back was that gross, sickly yellow-green colour, with splotches of fading reddish-purple just for variety. He'd been trying not to use the shoulder much. But for Sara's sake, he didn't care. "I feel a lot better, Sara, honestly." That much was true—he no longer held his breath and held back tears every time he stood up or sat down.

Rob appeared about halfway to the classroom, and Sara did manage to give Lee the slip at that point.

"Hi, Rob," she said cheerfully. "Be a gentleman and take care of me, so Lee doesn't hurt himself again."

Rob immediately complied, taking her hand and pulling her along just slightly behind him. "Lee, hurry up and get better, would you? I miss kicking your ass."

Lee laughed. "When have you ever been able to kick my ass?"

"You boys better both stop saying that word," Sara said firmly.

"My butt, I mean," Lee said, completely chastised. When Rob turned around to smirk at him with that _you're whipped, buddy_ look, Lee lifted his middle finger (only because he was sure Sara couldn't see it).

"Just because I haven't yet, doesn't mean I won't," Rob said. "Besides, my friend who takes kendo showed me a couple of things I want to use on you."

"I always wanted to take kendo," Lee said thoughtfully. "Maybe this summer, or something. If I have time. Or money." Not that either of those things were growing on trees around here, he sighed inwardly. His plan for the summer was to find a second job and work as much as possible, whenever he wasn't taking care of Sara.

"You'll have to if you plan on beating me," Rob grinned.

"You know I don't care nearly as much about it as you do?" Lee pointed out.

Rob smirked at him. "I'm holding Lee's girlfriend's hand . . ." he sang softly to himself.

Okay, maybe he cared. A _lot_.

"But I'm— we're not— that is—" Sara sputtered.

"Sara and I— it's just like— she's not—" Lee added helpfully.

Rob looked at his two flustered friends and laughed uproariously. "Who do you two think you're kidding? I mean, my god, you're freakin' attached at the hip."

Both of them slunk into the classroom with beet-red faces, leaving Rob to hold the door and let his chuckles peter out. They didn't look at each other, because that would just be awkward. They were close right now because Lee was taking care of Sara, and that was all, and Lee figured they both knew it. Maybe he was taking advantage of that, just a little bit, but once she got well she'd move on and find somebody _way_ better than Lee. That was just natural, he wasn't going to let himself get upset about it. Orphan delinquents with no prospects for the future did not make desirable boyfriends. Sara deserved to have his support right now, and then his time in her life would be over. He was already prepared for that.

Seeing Lee's contemplative silence, Rob kept Sara busy by asking her a bunch of questions about their homework. Sara tried to field them all, but she was just barely getting back into the swing of things; she'd spent the entire weekend studying. Still, she was probably doing better than Rob. Rob wasn't dumb, but he did have ADD and wasn't exactly devoted to his studies.

"You can study with Lee and I sometimes, if you want," Sara told him. "Right, Lee?"

He hadn't been paying any attention, but he'd heard his name. "Uh, yeah," he agreed, since he agreed to basically anything Sara wanted.

"Excellent," Rob grinned. "Even more opportunities to kick your a— heinie," he amended.

Lee and Sara both laughed. "Heinie? _Heinie_?"

"Shut up," Rob mumbled, and then they had to because class was starting.

After class was released, Lee took his time standing back up, still being cautious about his shoulder. Sara had gotten up more quickly, and then she suddenly put her hand to her head and sat down abruptly on top of the desk.

"Sara?" Lee said sharply, darting forward and putting his arm behind her.

She popped back up with a smile. "I'm fine. I just got a little dizzy for a second."

"Are you sure?" Rob broke in with a frown.

He was seriously never going to get used to this sensitive, chivalrous side of Rob. He was almost as conscientious about Sara's wellbeing as Lee himself. He even shared the duty of carrying Sara's backpack. Between the two of them, they made sure she was almost never carrying it herself.

"I'm sure," Sara said brightly, accepting the use of Lee's arm to get herself standing again. "Come on, the day's not even half over."

As the two boys escorted her to her next class, Lee leaned in close to ask her, "Have you been feeling dizzy this whole time?"

Sara patted his hand for a moment. "Please don't worry about it. If I was going to skip school every time I don't feel good, I would never be here. It's mostly just that I feel really tired, and sometimes I get nauseous. I can handle it."

Lee wished he could crush her into a tight, protective embrace, but he didn't want to hurt her. He wanted to take this away from her, and it killed him that he couldn't. It wasn't fair for someone so kind and sweet and selfless to be going through this. Stuff like this should only happen to the cruel and heartless . . . But then, he wouldn't wish this on his worst enemy, either. Except maybe that bastard Seth. If he could transfer Sara's cancer into Seth, he would totally do that. Seth had ruined the whole dynamic in Lee's home, destroyed the family Lee had started to feel like he was a part of. Seth could die screaming, for all he cared.

"Yeah, Rob, she was serious," he heard himself say in a tired way, even though his brain was only half on the conversation. "But let's study here, in the library, okay?"

Rob was quizzical, but Sara understood. Neither of their apartments was particularly inviting for friendly study sessions right now.

"It'll have to be tomorrow, though. I have to work tonight."

School and Sara and home were about as much as he could handle, but it wasn't as though he really had a choice about whether or not to work. There were bills to pay, on top of everything else.

* * *

_March 9__th_

Studying with Rob was sort of exhausting. He would only focus for five minutes before he changed the subject or needed a soda or had to pee or had a completely unrelated question. But they got him through his English homework. And it _was_ sort of rewarding to see his eyes light up when he finally figured out what realism was.

Sara and Lee were already half-sick of studying by the time they got home, but there was more to do. They hadn't factored in how stressful the extra study session would be for Sara. They only got halfway through their math homework before she got so tired that she experienced vertigo. Lee saw her grip the edge of the table and looked up to see her lips parted and her eyes squeezed into slits.

"Okay, that's enough homework," he said, flipping his book closed.

Her eyes opened wide at that. "No! This is due tomorrow!"

Lee both loved and hated her for that—for wanting to work so hard, for ignoring her health to do it. "We'll finish it later, okay?"

"I can keep going," she said stubbornly.

"I know, but my brain hurts. Too many numbers. Cut me some slack, eh?" He was clearly just making this up for her benefit, but he softened it with a teasing smile and she ended up smiling back. Then she yelped in surprise as he swooped in and picked her up. She threw her arms around his neck, laughing a bit, and he smiled down at her.

"Shall we retire, my lady?" he said gravely, and set her down on the sofa.

"Don't you think you're taking this knighthood thing too far?" she giggled.

_Did you know that you've become so thin it hurts to see, and that I never thought a human being would be so easy to carry? Did you know that I fear for you and care for you and would protect you in any way I could? Did you know that I wish I was really a knight, because that would mean there was something for me to fight on your behalf?_

"Is that a trick question, my lady?"

Her face became serious. "Not really. I wish I knew why you do all this for me."

_Because you're my whole world. Because when you smile, it's more than the room that lights up, it's __me__ that lights up. Because you have a kind and generous and courageous heart, and you deserve more than I can give you. This is all I can do, so I'll do it until it hurts and then keep going._

"You're important to me," he said, and sat down beside her and turned on the television, pulling her head down to his shoulder and cradling it there. She was still not convinced that her bare scalp didn't bother him, so he found opportunities to prove it. He hooked his fingers under the edge of the pageboy cap she was wearing and pulled it off. "You'll be more comfortable without this."

She stiffened up, but she didn't move away from him. He was casual about it, using one hand to operate the remote control, and moving the other hand down her shoulders to hold her against him. One of the things he'd discovered during his research was that people who had cancer needed to be touched. Even if it sometimes hurt, they needed it. Sara needed to know that having cancer didn't make her loved ones shy away from her.

"I wish my dad could meet you," Sara sighed.

Lee wasn't sure how to react to that. For one thing, he still didn't know anything about her dad. For another, that comment had a set of implications that usually came with it. Did Sara know that you introduced a boy to your dad because you were in a serious relationship?

"Can I ask . . . where is your dad, exactly?"

"He's in Egypt. At least, I hope he is."

"What does that mean?"

She pressed her face against him, and one of her frail hands clutched into his shirt. "We haven't heard from him in a while."

"Didn't you tell me, once, that your father is a teacher?"

"He's a college professor," she said, now playing with the fabric of his shirt. "Well, he was. He quit teaching so he could go to Egypt and work on an archaeological dig. He got the offer when I was fourteen, and he . . . Well, when we were kids, we needed him and he was there for us. It kept him pretty busy. But later, when we had lives of our own and we weren't home for dinner all the time, it got lonely for him. I know that was what happened. He just missed Mom. It made him do some foolish things."

"Like what?"

"Like shack up with some cougar skank," answered a voice that was patently not Sara's.

They looked up to see Tom in the doorway.

"I came by to check on you before I went to work. You weren't home."

"We're just taking a quick break from our homework," Sara said, and she gripped Lee's shirt when he made to sit up straighter and move Sara away from him. She continued to lean her head on his shoulder.

"And you're talking about our dad making a fool of himself over that old lady? Why? Did you already exhaust the topic of his alcoholism?"

"Dad is _not_ an alcoholic!" Sara snapped, sitting up and forgetting about the point she'd been proving. "Just because he was drinking too much for a while doesn't mean he still _is_!"

"He was drunk the last time we called him, monster," Tom said, his voice almost gentle after the way he'd started. "And we haven't heard from him at all in months."

"He's just busy," she said, her voice becoming tight and her arms crossing over her chest. "Tom, I want him to come home." Suddenly, she was crying. Lee scrambled to catch up—one minute yelling at her brother, the next hugging herself and in tears? He put his arm around her again, drawing her in close. "He doesn't even know I'm sick. I just wish Daddy was here, Tom."

"He hasn't _been_ here for two years. What do you think he'd be able to do?" Tom growled.

If Lee could have had his own father here, he would have. You didn't need to have a reason to want your parents nearby. But he wasn't an idiot, either. He'd seen the flash of hurt on Tom's face, even if Sara hadn't. Tom thought he wasn't good enough for Sara, or at least thought that Sara thought so. For all his short temper and busy schedule, Tom was here for her. Day in and day out, taking care of her as best he could. He shouldn't have to feel like he wasn't measuring up.

"At least you have Tom with you," Lee said softly.

Sara nodded. "Yes. Tom's great. You _are_," she said when he started making a surly noise. "You didn't have to let me come live with you. You and Yuri have both been wonderful."

"What were we supposed to do, leave you with the old man while he destroyed himself?"

"Dad was going to say no," Sara helpfully explained to Lee. "He said his responsibility was to me, and he wasn't going to go to Egypt. But Tom said Dad needed to get out of town and figure things out. He and Yuri had just moved in here, and they said I could come live with them. They were very gracious about it, even though they didn't have to be." She looked over at Tom with a watery smile. "I know you weren't expecting it to last this long. And you certainly couldn't have expected for me to get sick . . ."

"Never mind what I expected," Tom said gruffly. "It is what it is, and you're my sister, and I'm going to take care of you as long as you need me. Got it?"

Sara had a surpassingly sweet smile. It clearly provided the same balm to Tom's soul that it did to Lee's, since he smiled back.

"I have to get to work. Will you be okay?"

"I'm fine. Go on."

"Yuri's at work now; he'll be home in about an hour."

"I'll cook dinner for him."

"You'll rest," Tom said threateningly.

She stuck out her lip.

"I'll make sure of it," Lee said, hoping that didn't make Tom upset with him.

"That's right. Listen to the brat, monster, he's good at this."

Lee was stunned, but tried not to show it. Tom not only thought he was good at _something_, but he thought it was taking care of his sister. And he'd said it right out loud. Was he possessed?

"I will," Sara said in an amused voice. "Be safe, Tom."

"Yeah, yeah," he answered, the door already closing behind him.

"That was weird," Lee pronounced.

"You must be growing on him."

"I think I have goosebumps."

"For the record, you _are_ good at this."

"Why, thank you."

"Get me an Otter Pop."

He chuckled. "Yes, princess."

* * *

_March 10__th_

It wasn't a conscious thing he did—he never thought _Gee, I think I'll deprive myself of food and rest today_. It was just that food didn't really cross his mind that often. He would come home from work and he'd start in on his thesis, and sleep got pushed aside. When he finally got tired enough to sleep, his stomach would start churning, and he'd defy anyone to eat _or_ sleep when the mere idea of laying down set off a nauseating roil of acid.

Lee's essay had been exaggerated, but Finn was starting to live up to the caricature. He _was_ surviving mainly on pudding snacks and rum. He was walking around in a state of such exhaustion that he felt like a zombie. He'd actually noticed his reaction times becoming slower. He'd forgotten someone's order at work. The last day or two, he'd started feeling dizzy at odd moments. He knew he was at some kind of breaking point, but there was nothing to be done. He could only get a few hours of sleep before the nightmares took over. Once he managed to claw his way into consciousness, he was loath to surrender to that horror again. After waking up from his meagre three or four hours, he had no desire to sleep again.

These thoughts were firing randomly through his brain while he sat at the dining table with his computer and a pile of resources. He was cupping his chin with one hand while flipping through a pile of papers, looking for his heavily-marked up copy of a journal detailing the Roman occupation of Britain. He didn't notice when his eyes slid closed and his hand fell away from his work. He lay his head on his arm and dozed.

He woke abruptly when a hand descended on his shoulder, and he nearly knocked two of his books and the rum onto the floor. Caleb didn't know how privileged Finn was to be granted access to those books—he chose to catch the bottle, obviously more worried about the carpet than what Finn would say to Professor Rodriguez. Finn managed to catch the books, then he turned to glare at his roommate.

"What?"

Caleb was unapologetic. "Go to bed."

"Can't," Finn said shortly. "I have stuff to do."

Caleb just stared at him, and Finn found himself staring back, too tired for witty repartee. He realized that it didn't matter how much he hated the dreams, sleep wasn't going to be put off any longer.

"Fine," he muttered, closing his computer (he caught the time as he did, it was nearly one o'clock) and shuffling to the bedroom. It was supposed to be indignant marching, but shuffling was all he could manage. He let his pants fall to the floor and flopped into bed, disregarding the lingering pain in his chest in favour of a comfortable position. He completely ignored the grumpy, annoying, nosy bastard trailing behind him. Once upon a time, he probably would have pretended to strip just to hear Caleb yell at him. But Caleb wasn't nearly as endearing as he used to be. Finn had been so _ready_ to die, but Caleb just had to save him and condemn him to this new life, walking around half-drunk and half-asleep and in constant fear that Arthur was going to call him again.

This was all Caleb's fault.

Never mind that Finn had been the one to force Caleb to become friends with him in the first place. It was supposed to be for fun. Caleb wasn't supposed to start _caring_.

Head full of bitter thoughts, Finn went under.

_The little girl was waiting for him. Nearly-translucent skin was stretched tight over her narrow cheeks, and her eyes were dull. Gray lips parted, making the sores ooze. "You were supposed to save me," she whispered._

"_You don't look like this," he answered. "You didn't die."_

"_I did," she insisted. "Why didn't you save me?"_

_The woman was right behind her. Her face was a mass of swelling bruises, her split lip was dribbling blood onto her chin. "You said you'd help," she said accusingly. "You said you'd make it stop."_

"_I did!"_

_They took turns accusing him, then suddenly __she__ was there. She couldn't speak, but she tried, making the gash over her throat gape open and making him turn away in horror. She reached out to him beseechingly._

"_I tried," he whispered, knowing he was weeping. "I tried so hard. I did."_

_Then he was looking at himself. Only it wasn't him. Blood coated his face, smeared over his neck. The bloodied him dipped his fingers in the gore, and painted on his cheek. It was like looking in a mirror, only it wasn't a mirror. But then it was, they were both looking in a mirror so he could see what his other self had painted on his face._

"_It's your fault," they read together. Then his mirror self started backing away, fading out into the darkness behind them. "It's your fault."_

"_Don't go!" he cried. "Please don't go!"_

_He reached out to grab him, stop him before he could disappear, but he wasn't fast enough. He could never be fast enough._

"_Stay with me!"_

"Please!"

Disoriented, he twisted around, reaching out in desperation for the blood-soaked other. He was still surrounded by darkness but it wasn't the cold, empty space where they waited to accuse him. His eyes found the alarm clock's glowing numbers, and he tried to fix himself in space. He was in his own bedroom. The only person in here with him would be Caleb. He quickly looked to the other bed, trying to reassure himself beyond all doubt.

Caleb was looking at him. That in and of itself was a bit unusual. Caleb normally slept facing the door, with his back turned to Finn. He must have been calling out in his sleep and woken the other man up.

"Shit," Finn muttered, and stood up. There was no way he was going to sleep again.

"It's four in the morning," Caleb said. Rather unnecessarily.

"And?" Finn said, walking past Caleb's bed.

In a flash, the big guy was up and standing in front of the door. "So go back to sleep, you dumbass."

Finn snorted at him, giving what he thought was a fairly impressive imitation of Caleb's own usual noise of disgust. "Yeah, right."

Caleb's hand latched onto his arm, and Finn was suddenly being pulled back toward his bed.

"What are you doing?"

"Making you sleep."

"This isn't really any of your business, Caleb."

"Like hell it isn't," he answered. Well, wasn't that just cryptic? What was that supposed to mean? "If you won't take care of yourself, then I'll do it." He pushed Finn down. Finn could have stopped him, if he'd really wanted to. It wasn't like he didn't know how to fight. But it _was_ four in the morning, and he _was_ still deeply exhausted, and he found himself falling back into bed.

"Now stay there," Caleb demanded.

Finn knew there was no way he was going to be able to fall asleep again. He resolved to leave quietly once Caleb did. He didn't relish the idea of laying here staring at Caleb's sleeping back for the next three hours.

Caleb sat down with his back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

Finn couldn't believe it. Caleb was actually going to sit here and keep him from leaving. He was such a _bastard_ sometimes.

"I hate you," he breathed out, and resolutely closed his eyes. He didn't want to see Caleb giving up sleep and keeping vigil over him. Didn't want to acknowledge it. If he didn't notice it, then he wouldn't have to think about the reasons behind it.

If only he was anyone else, anyone but Finn Valeria. He could fall into Caleb's concern, surround himself in that warmth, and be lost there. But that was a dream, something like a fairy tale world that wasn't for him. If Caleb knew . . . Finn was more than a practiced liar, he was a criminal and a coward. Caleb's whole life was protecting the people he cared about, and if he knew how badly Finn had failed at that very thing—Finn was sickened to think of it. He didn't mind anger and he didn't mind frustration, but if he ever saw Caleb look at him with the inevitable disgust and disappointment . . . He would run before that happened. He was good at running.

He barely even realized he'd fallen asleep again until the alarm went off at seven. He blinked, looked around. Caleb wasn't in here. He could hear the water running in the bathroom, so he must be in the shower. Good. They wouldn't even have to look at each other after that little episode, much less talk about it. Finn didn't know what he would have said, anyway.

* * *

_March 11__th_

"Caleb."

"What?"

"Why didn't you tell us about this article?"

"What article?" Finn asked with wide eyes, while Caleb turned a furious red and looked away.

"He's got a thing about him in _Sports Illustrated._"

"What?" Finn gasped, snagging the edge of Lee's magazine to look.

"It's from a while ago, I've just been busy and haven't had a chance to read it yet," Lee told him.

"It's just a some stats for a bunch of different players," Caleb mumbled.

"College players to watch this season," Lee explained to Finn. "It lists them, their school, and their stats. Caleb's _way_ up there. The verdict is that he's going to have the most exciting season of all the players they mention—true, so far."

Finn gave Caleb a sharp look, but Caleb was crossing his arms and looking grumpy.

"But there's a sidebar about him, too, it's— oh," Lee said in sudden understanding. "Oh."

"I didn't give them permission to write that shit," Caleb said, while Lee was allowing Finn to steal the magazine.

"_Never Surrender_," Finn read aloud, slowly. " 'Caleb Hawke is more than a good ball player, he's overcome incredible odds just to get this far. His mother'—"

Finn was interrupted by the sound of Caleb growling. He waited until Caleb stomped out and slammed the bedroom door to go on. " 'His mother died of multiple sclerosis when he was fourteen, after a long battle with the illness. Only weeks later, Hawke was completely orphaned when his father, a veteran police officer, was gunned down by a vengeful meth dealer outside the family's home. The man tried to take the Hawkes' elderly neighbor hostage, but Caleb was truly his father's son. The eighth-grader, a champion junior marksman, ended the threat by putting a bullet through each of the criminal's hands with his father's firearm.

" 'Hawke was taken in by friends of the family, who encouraged him to pursue his talent in baseball once he entered high school. Hawke struggled throughout school with anger issues, leading to more than one suspension and even a run-in with the law. These setbacks led to being held back in school, and he wasn't able to graduate until age 19. His size was, it seemed, an invitation to start a fight— he was already over 6' when he began high school, and hasn't stopped growing, beginning the current season at a healthy 6'5". His college application was nearly denied when he faced assault charges his senior year of high school. Since beginning at San Francisco State University, however, he seems to have found solid ground. Other players have nothing but praise for their talented teammate, and are quick to dispel rumors that his trouble-making days continue.

" ' "He's actually pretty patient," says one teammate. "If one of us isn't grasping something, he's better than some of the coaches at working with us over and over until we get it right."

" 'Other teammates describe the young giant as hard-working, "honest to a fault," and'—"

"Will you stop reading that crap?" Caleb had reappeared when they weren't looking, and he clearly wasn't happy.

"There's hardly any left," Finn said blithely. "Haven't you read it? '—to a fault, and completely incorruptible. When he was accused of steroid use his first season at SFSU, not a single one of his teammates was willing to believe it, and the accusation was proved false immediately. He's even maintaining a 3.1 GPA this year. Hawke, once an angry and grief-stricken adolescent, has already overcome the worst life can throw at him. We're all going to be in the stands this season, ready to see just what else this young man can do.'"

Finn and Lee looked up at him once Finn finished reading. Caleb scowled and stomped over to the stove and turned off the burner.

"You dumbasses didn't stir the pasta," he announced. "It's stuck to the bottom."

They were both silent. Lee, who was feeling the loss of his own parents and thinking about the dumb things he'd done afterward, was silent because he had a huge lump in his throat. He didn't know, but he suspected Finn wasn't talking because he no longer allowed himself to say anything kind or encouraging to Caleb. At least he hadn't become such a dick yet that he'd say something cruel instead.

Caleb moodily banged around while draining the water off the pasta and pulling the fish out of the oven. He served himself up, slapping a piece of halibut onto a bed of pasta and chopping a lemon in half with one angry _chunk_ of a knife. Even the sound of Caleb using the salt and pepper shakers was nearly deafening.

"I don't care if you guys know," he said at last, not even looking up at them as he sat down at the table.

"I, um . . . kind of don't believe you," Lee said as carefully as possible. Things were still okay between the two of _them_, and he'd rather not ruin it.

"Well, it's not like you went looking for that, right?"

"Right . . ."

"So it's not really your fault. So I'm not gonna let it bother me," Caleb finished, actually looking up at this point to prove his sincerity.

"Okay," Lee said softly, then reached up to scratch an itch on his cheek and found that his fingers came away wet. "God," he muttered, getting up. "I'm sorry." He entered the kitchen and started making himself a plate. He looked over at Caleb. "Really. I'm sorry."

Caleb shrugged and ate in silence. Lee joined him, also in silence. After a moment, well against his better judgment but for some reason unable to help it, Lee did speak, although it was to say something to Finn.

"Hey, Finn. Aren't you going to eat?"

Finn didn't even look up from his computer. "Not hungry," he said with a shrug.

Caleb's growl practically shook the house. "Like hell you're not," he said in an ugly voice. "You haven't eaten in . . . God, I don't even _know_ when you last ate."

"Earlier today."

"Those stupid Weasel Pops don't count!"

Finn finally looked up, his face communicating a complete lack of concern for Caleb's anger. Lee, however, had frozen with food still in his mouth and found himself unable to swallow. "I didn't know my habits bothered you so much, Caleb," he said in a calm voice.

Lee very quietly picked up his plate and took it to the sink. "I'm going to check on Sara," he said, even though he didn't think either of them heard him over the sound of Caleb's pulse pounding, and he fled the apartment.

Finn and Caleb continued their stare-down.

"Look at you," Caleb said in a quiet, dangerous voice. "You've been losing weight, and you were too thin already."

"I haven't been hungry," Finn maintained.

"Yeah, it's kind of hard to be hungry when you're too exhausted to notice," Caleb replied.

"What do you want me to do about it?" Finn sighed.

"Short of getting some goddamn help? Get over here and eat."

"You're really stuck on this, aren't you?"

"Do you want me to tie you to a chair and shove it down your throat? I'm just about ready to."

"Why?"

"Because I'm tired of watching you do this!" Caleb bellowed, jumping to his feet. "I can't just watch it anymore! You're basically trying to kill yourself by _not_ trying _anything_, and I'm sick of it! I told you, didn't I? You want to die so bad, you wait until _I_ kill you. Until then, you're gonna have to do better than this!"

Finn's eyes were wide with surprise. This was by far the most honest conversation they'd had in a while. Or maybe ever. Trying to put distance between them clearly wasn't working the way he'd hoped. Caleb wasn't going to let him do what he'd been doing anymore. If Finn pushed him any further, he might actually force-feed him or something. The emotional distance, Caleb might not be able to do anything about, but he'd clearly reached his limit when it came to Finn's physical health. He'd been assuming last night was an anomaly, but Caleb didn't seem to think so.

Very quietly, and feeling genuinely humble at the moment, Finn went to the stove and got some food. It was hard to choke down, but he did, electing to eat while leaning against the dishwasher instead of at the table. He had to stay away however he could.

* * *

_She was trying to speak. The violent slash across her throat was twitching, blood pumped out between his fingers. His stomach was pinching itself into knots, and he turned his face away. But that only brought __him__ into view. He lay there broken on the floor, framed by the spray that had arced up from his head and painted the kitchen cupboards. Too late for him, too late for help. But her . . ._

_The desperation of her gurgle, trying for air, trying to plead—it was ripping his brain apart to witness this. He couldn't fathom what was below him, beneath his fingers. He was already shutting it out, vowing to forget. But she was still kicking her legs out, fighting. She somehow got one last gasp of oxygen into her lungs, and she opened her mouth to show her blood-lined teeth._

"_Why won't you save me?" she moaned._

* * *

Caleb was roused into waking by the noise. His eyes popped open. The sound he was hearing made his hair stand on end. He turned over silently, wondering if Finn would wake up soon—_praying_ he would. Finn was facedown in bed, his hands clutching white-knuckled into his pillow, and he was whimpering. Caleb felt cold all over at the sound of Finn's muffled cries (fear or pain or sorrow, Caleb didn't know) and just wanted it to stop.

"Fuck it," he muttered, swinging his legs around and getting up. It was only two steps to Finn's bed, and he shook his roommate by the shoulder. "Wake up."

Finn let out a long, keening wail and Caleb nearly jumped out of his skin. He shook Finn harder. "Wake up, you dumbass," he said, almost desperate. "Hey!"

Finn rolled over very abruptly, his eyes looking wild. "I'm trying!" he blurted out. "Please _don't_ . . ." He choked on his words, curled onto his side, and started to shiver. "I have to keep pressure on it," he mumbled. "You can't die, okay?"

His voice sounded so _strange_, sort of soft and bewildered. Child-like, even. God, where did he think he was? How _long ago_ did he think this was?

"Snap out of it!" Caleb said roughly, clenching his hands uselessly at his sides. "Look at me, Finn."

He did. His eyes were wet with tears, and Caleb had never seen him like that before.

"Look around, dumbass. Look where you are."

"Caleb," he murmured. He sounded relieved. Well, damn, if he was relieved to see someone he professed to hate, then whatever was happening in his head must be fucked beyond belief.

"What the hell was that? Keep pressure on it?"

Finn sat up, shivered violently for a moment, then stood, brushing past him.

"Where are you going?"

"To vomit. Profusely."

"Seriously," Caleb said with determination. "What the hell is going on with you? You never used to do this."

"I've also never been shot in the kidney before," Finn replied, apparently forgetting about throwing up. "I already told you. You had my blood all over your hands, and it—it's really screwing with me."

He tried to walk away again, but Caleb blocked the door like he had the night before.

"Say what you like, but there is no way I'm going to be able to sleep again. That was . . ." He shook his head, and gave up, and stood there looking exhausted. There were deep purple bags under his eyes and his cheeks were starting to look hollowed-out, and here in the dark it made him look skeletal. Caleb couldn't take this anymore. He just couldn't.

"Look, Finn." He stopped. Finn wasn't going to like this, but it had to be said. "I knew there might be consequences to saving you. I knew you didn't want me to. I did it anyway. So I'm taking responsibility for it. If that means I have to babysit your dumb ass, then that's what it means."

"Get to the point, Caleb," the other man sighed.

"You need help, you idiot. And it's up to me to make sure you get it. So I'll feed you if I have to, and I'll drag your sorry butt away from the computer, and when you wake up screaming, I'll— fuck if I know. I'll think of something."

"Yeah, while you're straining yourself for a solution to that one, I'll be in the living room making better use of my time."

Finn tried to get past him again, and that was it. Caleb had officially had it. He put his hands on Finn's shoulders and _pushed_. Finn stumbled, hitting the backs of his legs on Caleb's bed and landing on his butt on the bed, stunned.

"Do you even know how _tired_ you look? Do you know how tired _I_ am, you dumbass? You think I can sleep when I know you're in the other room killing yourself? You're going back to sleep, dammit!"

"Caleb, I . . ." Finn clearly didn't know how to react. He actually seemed amused, and if there was anything that pissed Caleb off worse than being laughed at, he hadn't encountered it yet.

"You're going to sleep if I have to hold you down on this bed and fucking clobber you unconscious," he vowed, shoving Finn again to make him lay down.

"I'm in _your_ bed," Finn pointed out.

"I noticed," Caleb growled. "And I'm going to sit right here next to your head. Try getting up before the alarm goes off tomorrow. I dare you."

Finn clearly didn't know how to argue with illogical anger. He just lay still, staring at the ceiling. They endured the most awkward and uncomfortable silence that had ever happened between them, but Caleb wasn't backing down and Finn was too bewildered to work his way around it.

Eventually, Finn broke the silence.

"I was dreaming about someone who died," he said. "I tried to save her, but she died. In my dreams, she always . . . She always blames me," he whispered. "What the hell was I supposed to do, anyway? I was ten fucking years old."

His hands crept up and covered his eyes, hiding those incredibly disconcerting tears. Caleb was quiet. Someone had died right in front of this guy when he was a little kid? _"Keep pressure on it_," he'd said. God, what had happened to her, whoever she was? No wonder he was so screwed up.

Caleb's hand touched the blond hair spread across his pillow, almost without his permission, like his hand had a mind of its own. Finn hunched his shoulders, but then seemed to accept the touch. He didn't pull away, anyway. After a minute, he turned onto his side, away from Caleb. He was more relaxed now, and Caleb thought he might actually sleep. He left his hand where it was, feeling increasingly drowsy himself.

He began to drift off, head nodding and hand slipping away from Finn's hair. Half-aware, he slid down into his bed, sort of forgetting it was occupied, and let go of consciousness completely.

* * *

_March 12__th_

He wasn't sure for a moment why he had woken up, but he knew he wasn't happy about it.

Caleb knew it was still very early morning, even though he had his back turned to the alarm clock on the nightstand. The drape they'd thrown over the window was white, and it was easy to see the light of dawn peeking through, just above his head, watery and half-hearted. His team had a weekend series in Pomona, and he needed to pack his things and meet up at school . . . But that was hours away, yet. He needed more sleep. He was still exhausted. He wasn't sure what had made him that way, and he didn't know why he'd woken.

Then he realized that there was a warm, slightly sticky, and very odd sensation against his shoulder. He tensed up. Okay, _now_ he remembered why he was exhausted. The wife-beater tank top he was wearing left plenty of bare skin for someone else's bare skin to press against and get a bit sweaty—that would be the odd feeling on his shoulder. It was Finn. Finn was pressed up against his back, at least partially.

Caleb didn't move an inch, trying to sort out what he was feeling. He was facing the door, and Finn was behind him, with the right side of his body sort of propped up along Caleb's back and with his head buried in the pillow directly against Caleb's shoulder. It seemed to be his cheek that Caleb had felt at first.

Then there was a puff of warm air on the back of his neck, and he tensed even more. He knew the tightening of his muscles was waking Finn up, but he could hardly help it.

"Nnnh," Finn grunted.

"Fuck," Caleb muttered.

Finn shifted just slightly, and then Caleb felt the weirdest thing he'd ever felt. He knew with complete clarity that Finn had woken because the other man's eyelashes brushed against his skin. But Finn didn't move away, didn't move at all. He just let out a soft sigh that, combined with the eyelashes and the position they were in, made goosebumps pop out on Caleb's arms. He scowled.

"I don't hurt," Finn said in a creaky, not-quite-awake voice. He sounded amazed, like he'd believed it wasn't possible. "If you . . . If you pretend I'm not here, we can both sleep some more."

He sounded kind of plaintive. Hopeful. Caleb thought about it for a moment. If he was in Pomona with the baseball team all weekend, there was every chance Finn would not sleep again before Sunday night. And he _was_ sleeping, it seemed, and even comfortable. Caleb was absolutely _not_ comfortable, but his roommate was finally getting some goddamn rest.

There was plenty of time before he had to leave. Caleb closed his eyes, and deliberately made his breathing even out. Slow and deep. He forced himself not to care that Finn was pressed up against him. Forced himself to relax and live with it. This was the responsibility he'd taken on. Breathe in, breathe out.

He fell back to sleep.

* * *

_**A/N:** Erm . . . yes. Excruciatingly painful chapter. The best kind!_

_Anyway, just wanted to say sorry that I did not reply to your reviews this week. I've been awfully busy, but I hope no one feels that I do not love and appreciate them/their comments. Because, y'know, I do. The person I am overflowing with love for, however, is my editor, The Wandering Reader. I know I have reason to be proud of this story, but the flawless grammar and lack of continuity error are all hers. Not to mention that if I could not call her and use her as a sounding board, only half of this thing would have been written._

_But then, the real reason I love her so much today is that her rampant fangirlism for CLAMP has alerted me to the impending release of Gate 7. Cannot wait..._


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

_March 6__th_

_My chest hurts_.

That came first. Then he actually started waking up.

_What time is it?_ _Oh my god, what __day__ is it? How long have I been asleep?_

He finally opened his eyes, and tried to sit up. He fell back, coughing and then crying out at the pain. But he saw that he was at home, in his room.

_I thought he took me to urgent care, I thought they would make things better . . . And where is he, anyway? He's such a worrywart, he ought to be sitting right there waiting or something— oh, what? Why would I be thinking that? Why would I __want__ him there?_

"I don't," Averil said aloud—well, tried to say, then stopped and grimaced. He laid a trembling hand on his chest and pressed down, as if that would keep him from coughing, as if that would keep it from hurting. It was all he could do, for the moment. He felt . . . "Helpless," he rasped out. "Again."

_Laura must be worried about me._

Zack walked in just then. He met Averil's eyes and stopped in surprise.

"You're awake."

"You just love—" Averil cleared his throat "—to state the obvious," he finished with a whisper.

"Hasn't been that obvious lately," Zack answered in a slightly darker tone than Averil was used to hearing. He started moving again, coming over to Averil and holding out a glass of water. "Do you want some?"

Averil wanted very badly to reject that water and get his own, but he felt awful and shaky, and he thought he'd fall if he got up. He couldn't even say "yes, please," or anything polite, because speaking just now had felt like he imagined it would feel to gargle sand. He could only nod and reach out for the glass with pathetic gratitude. He nearly spilled it, and Zack swiftly took it back.

"I'll get a straw."

At least he wasn't offering to hold the glass, Averil groused to himself, even if he was leaving him alone again and not answering any of his questions. Oh, wait, he hadn't asked any questions yet. God, why was he so disoriented?

"You have pneumonia," Zack said, re-entering the room abruptly. "I took you to urgent care on Thursday night, and it's around noon on Saturday now." He gave him the glass very carefully, going so far as to put his hand over Averil's for a moment to be sure he was holding onto it. Averil didn't even have the energy to scream at him about that (and he thought he might _actually_ have dropped the glass if Zack hadn't helped) so he just drank the water. "You were out of it all day yesterday. You woke up a few times, but you didn't really say anything and you didn't know where you were."

"That's . . . scary."

"Yes," Zack agreed, with disconcerting bluntness. "You were really upset when they said they wanted to admit you to the hospital. I told them Grandfather was a doctor, and they agreed to let me take you home. But we got worried that we'd have to take you anyway. You were in a lot of pain."

"Am," Averil corrected. "Am in a lot of pain." Though, his throat felt better now that he had the water.

Zack went over to the desk and retrieved an orange plastic bottle. "You have to take these."

"Okay," Averil mumbled, accepting what was placed in his hand. It took him three tries to swallow them. He was so tired. It was more than pain, he just felt wrung out and spent. He'd only been awake five minutes.

"Can you cough?"

Averil coughed experimentally, then gasped and blinked back tears. He was sure he could feel the liquid in his lungs.

"I'll get Grandfather now. He should look at you."

Averil didn't protest at that, either. He heard Harold's footsteps, then heard Zack mumble to him, just outside the door.

"He's still really sick. He's not even arguing with me."

_He sounds so __worried__._

Harold chuckled at Zack's comment, then came in and started looking him over. Averil tried to pay attention to his questions and answer them, but he could barely hang on. He was exhausted. Based on the aching muscles in his sides and back, he thought he must be exhausted from coughing so much, but Harold told him his body was worn out with fighting his illness.

"But I'm just laying here," he objected, then shifted uncomfortably. Harold was improvising, using a tube of rolled-up paper to listen to his chest, and it tickled.

"I know. Lazy of you to let your body do all the work when you're not even conscious," Harold fake-scolded him.

"Can I go back to sleep now?"

"Sure. I'm glad you woke up coherent, that's very good. You're going to be doing a lot of sleeping for a few more days, okay? I'm not letting you out of the house for about a week, unless I want to take you to the doctor's office. Understand? Do not leave without my permission."

Averil frowned. "But I have school and work . . ."

Harold nodded toward the desk, where a pile of books and papers were neatly stacked up. "When you're up for it, there's your homework. I told them you won't be in school at all this coming week. And I threatened to burn Yvonne's shop down if she bothers you."

Averil had to laugh at that.

"I did tell Mike he could come over and check on you later this week, though. He's been awfully concerned."

"Laura?"

"Zack went over and talked to her. She sent her best wishes."

"What am I going to do about Karen?"

"She'll get by," Harold said firmly. "She's got those ladies to look out for her."

"But she trusts me the most," he fretted. "She'll be . . ."

"We'll keep an eye out," Harold assured him, calming him by cupping the back of his head. "I promise. You just get some rest, boy."

"No problems there," Averil mumbled, already half-gone.

Harold stood up and left the room, but Zack must have been waiting for him there in the hallway. Averil heard them talking. He tried to pay attention.

"Com'ere," Harold said softly, and there was a brief sound of rustling clothing. Harold must be hugging him. That was unusual. "I know you've been scared, but I think the danger's past. It's all right."

Silence.

"Something else worrying you?"

"Yes," was Zack's whole answer.

"Well, you come find me if you want to talk about it," Harold said, after a pause. "Really, though, this is a blessing in disguise for me."

"It is?"

"The kid can hardly argue with a trip to the doctor's office after a bout of pneumonia, right? I was about ready to drag him in there kicking and screaming, but he ought to come quietly after this. I aim to keep him in there until we can get his other problems looked at."

Another brief silence.

"Good thinking," Zack said.

"I know," Harold agreed, in a voice that made Averil picture a sly smile on his face.

He wondered if they knew he was listening, then he wondered if they minded. And he suddenly wondered if he minded, either. They were so worried about him, both of them. They cared about him. Maybe he ought to stop pretending he was okay and just let Harold do this for him. If he really did think of Averil as family, maybe it was ungrateful of him to keep pushing him away and dealing with his health problems on his own. Maybe it was selfish.

_Damn you, Yvonne_. He tried to project that thought next door—he didn't believe in telepathy, but _she_ probably did, and maybe she'd hear him. _Damn you for making me think about this stuff._

He fell asleep, but woke again late in the afternoon when Zack came in carrying a mug that smelled salty.

"It's broth," he explained, approaching the bed. "Grandfather says you need something in your system, but you're probably not ready for food yet. You're supposed to have all of this, if you can."

Averil took it, but he didn't know what to say to Zack. He was deeply embarrassed by his current weakness, and he just stared down into the mug of brown liquid and felt his face heating up. Collapsing like that—being _carried_, for God's sake—and now stuck in bed. It was too much.

After a moment, he realized he wasn't the only one struggling with the silence between them. Zack was just standing there, his hands at his sides, and his face was even more guarded than usual.

"What?"

Zack took a deep breath and let it out carefully. "I was at Laura's house while you were sleeping. And I'm going again tomorrow. To help her pack before the movers come."

Averil nearly dropped the mug of broth. "What movers?"

"She's moving in with her sister. Her sister lives in Nashville. She's leaving on Monday. She said . . . that she had to stop clinging to her son's memory. She said it was time for her to go."

"B-but her house," Averil spluttered, trying to make sense of it.

"She put it up for sale yesterday. This is a good neighbourhood. The realtor says it'll be fast."

"But why would she . . .?" Averil looked at Zack's empty face and went cold all over. "You didn't."

Zack raised his head very slightly, acknowledging it.

"What did you say to her?" Averil yelled. "Huh? Did you tell her it was her fault? How DARE—" He lost his rant in coughing. Zack immediately took the mug away from him and set it on the desk.

Oh, god, he was too tired and sick for this. He lay back limply and tried to breathe, but he could feel tears in his eyes and he felt afraid for some reason. He didn't want Laura to be leaving. He'd already lost his mother, why did he have to lose her _twice_? It wasn't fair, nobody should have to do this twice, they shouldn't even have to do it _once_, but it was happening to him, like enough hadn't already gone wrong in his life—

"Hey!" Zack said, and smacked the side of his head. "You can't have a panic attack! You have pneumonia!"

Averil wheezed at him and tried _not_ to be having an attack. It didn't work.

"She's going to have her nephew teach her how to use Facebook," Zack said. "She said she'll find you on there once she gets an account."

"F-face—" Averil wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his head, trembling with weakness, irrational fear, and awful grief. He coughed, making a sound like a dying camel, and he just let it go and let himself cry. "Get out."

"But you're having a pan—"

"GET OUT!"

Zack looked down at the floor. "You should try to drink the broth after the attack is over," he muttered. He spun on his heel and walked out, closing the door behind him.

* * *

He'd known it would be like that. He'd known Averil would hate him. He'd wanted to get it out of the way instead of waiting a week and making it some horrible surprise. He hadn't counted on sending him into a panic attack. And he was so _sick_. Zack felt his stomach twisting into a knot at the thought of how Averil might hurt himself, trying to fight off an attack _and_ pneumonia. He'd thought about staying in there no matter what Averil said, but then he'd thought Averil couldn't afford to be spazzing out in anger on top of everything else.

He made a beeline for his grandfather, who looked up from the book he was reading when he heard Zack's footsteps.

"I upset him. He's . . . please go help him."

Harold calmly placed a bookmark in the fold of the book and shut it. "What happened?"

"I didn't want him to find out later. I told him Laura's moving. He's having a panic attack, but he won't let me help. _Please_._ Please_ go help him."

Harold jumped to his feet and ran to the bedroom.

Well. There was one good thing about being so reserved. No chance people would think you were just crying wolf.

Zack went to the linen closet in the hallway and took out a couple of blankets. He heard Grandfather speaking to Averil calmly, and heard Averil coughing with that terrible whooping, tearing-cloth noise. But Grandfather wasn't poking his head out yelling about the hospital, so it was probably okay. Grandfather would know what to do.

He took the blankets to the couch. He'd sleep here tonight, he supposed. It would be better that way, so Averil could rest. Was there some other way he should have done it? Some way he could have said it that wouldn't have set him off like that? He'd tried to explain everything, to tell Averil exactly what she'd said . . . Maybe he should have warned him first? _"You're not going to like this"_ or something.

He wouldn't let himself think about how it could have gone, in some other world where things weren't so difficult. He wouldn't let himself think that he could have sat down next to him, put an arm around him, told him the truth and let him cry on his shoulder. That would never happen, so he wouldn't think about it.

Well, since he wasn't thinking about _that_, maybe he should think about _something. _He could do his homework. Or make dinner.

Hey, what were they going to eat this week?

* * *

_March 10__th_

"It's just me," Averil called out as he shut the door to the shop behind him.

Alerted by the bell in the back of the house, Mike came bouncing out to greet him. "Averil, hi! I didn't know you were coming over! Why aren't you in bed?"

"I'm tired of bed," he explained, looking around the shop with fondness and accepting Mike's hug. Mike was a little weird about hugging, but Averil didn't care. "I see you haven't done anything with the shop while I've been sick."

Mike glanced around at the items that were stacked up haphazardly, and he shrugged. "You're good at that stuff! We didn't want to mess up your work!"

"Uh-huh." Averil did not believe it for a minute. More than likely, Mike had spent the past few days making necessary phone calls to customers and then sitting in the kitchen drinking too much and playing games on his Nintendo DS. Yvonne was usually right beside him, also drinking, doing paperwork and making slightly more obscure phone calls to potential buyers. "Is Yvonne at the apartments today?" She usually spent her Wednesdays helping Mike's sister with paperwork and resident disputes that were out of her jurisdiction.

"I was, but I'm back." The deep voice, just shy of sultry, came from the hallway where they kept the filing cabinets.

"Speak of the devil," Averil said dryly, walking in there. He made himself breathe carefully—even after all his work, it was still dusty in here. This visit would be over if he started coughing too much, because it still hurt like crazy.

"We were just talking about you, as well," Yvonne said, straightening up from the paperwork she was bent over, giving him a lazy smile. "Mike said you seemed all right when he visited yesterday."

"I'm doing better," Averil agreed. "Harold wants to take me to the doctor tomorrow."

"So he mentioned. He's been over here for a few cups of tea."

"He has?"

"We always have tea when one of us needs to talk."

Yvonne turned and headed back into the kitchen area, and Averil followed. Apparently talking about tea made her want some, because she went to the cupboard and pulled out some cups. She had an entire cupboard devoted to different types of tea, in glass jars—she had a knack for picking out the perfect one for a new customer who wandered in. Averil was only just beginning to get the hang of how she did it, but he had learned that the green tea with hints of plum was her own favourite. He got out the jar and the tea infuser and went to the sink to fill the kettle—automatic movements, part of his job. He'd only come over to tell her he'd be back to work on Saturday to get caught up, but he fell into his role without thinking about it.

"What were you talking about?" Averil asked guardedly, thinking it must be him.

Yvonne was giving him her sly smile. "I told him that things will be okay. After all, if Zack's sleeping on the couch, that must mean the two of you have enough of a relationship for there to be ups and downs."

"WHAT? That's— that's— you can't— We don't have anything! Okay? If you knew what that bastard did—" He started coughing. It still hurt, but it didn't sound as bad as before.

"I know," Yvonne said calmly.

"He just— you do?"

"Sit down. I can tell you shouldn't even be here," she said impatiently. "I'll finish the tea. Harold will kill me for not sending you straight back home to bed, won't he?"

"Mmph," Averil said in response. "How do you know, anyway?"

"Zack came over here to talk to me. He thinks that the amount of time you spend over here means I know you better than he does."

"You do," Averil grumped, accepting his physical defeat and sitting down at the table to watch Yvonne measure out the tea. "He doesn't understand anything."

"You're not very fair to him," Yvonne said in a rather quiet way.

"What do you mean?"

"All he did was tell her the truth. That you're ill and that you were making yourself worse."

"He knew what she would do."

"I dare say he did. So?"

"So it's his fault that she's gone." He knew he was making too much of this. He hadn't even known Laura that long. But all that grief he'd forgotten about because he had made himself forget everything . . . It was coming back to him, now. How awful it was to lose your mother. Losing his mother and losing Laura was becoming one grief, in his mind. It would be that way unless he allowed his memories of his mother to return.

"Do you know how much danger you put yourself in?"

Averil was startled by the severity of the question.

"Uh, I guess not."

"The only reason Harold didn't take you to the hospital is because you told Zack you were afraid and begged him to keep you at home."

"I did NOT—" The hard look on her face stopped him. "I don't remember that. Maybe I did."

"Do you know why they hospitalize people for pneumonia?"

"Because they're sick?"

"Because they might die, Averil."

"Oh."

"You could have died. If you had managed to hide how sick you were just a little longer, you could have ended up dead. Do you understand yet? Do you understand now why Zack did that? He knew you'd be angry. He knew you would hate him for this. And he chose to do it anyway, because he wanted to protect you. He knew it might end up this way. He was prepared to lose even the tiny crumbs you drop him, just to keep you safe."

Averil could only gape at her in shock.

"It's up to you to decide how it's going to be." She set a cup of tea in front of him. "Drink this and then go home. Just remember that doing nothing and saying nothing . . . That's a choice, too."

Averil drank the tea numbly, barely tasting it. For some reason, he thought about an incident at school a couple of weeks ago. They'd been putting the classroom supplies away after making a poster board for a presentation in class. Averil had been carrying all the colored markers, and Sunny was right behind him with the scissors and glue. She'd tripped, and Zack had caught her. Averil had turned around when she cried out in surprise, and found the scissors pointing right at him. She might have accidentally stabbed him if Zack hadn't grabbed her.

That was how it had been for the two months that were all he remembered of life. Zack, always there to protect him even when he didn't know he needed it. Or even when he didn't need protection. Zack didn't ask for anything, probably wouldn't even know what to ask for. But he was always there.

Averil took his cup to the sink and rinsed it out, then wandered out of the shop without actually saying goodbye. He went home.

Zack was at the dining table, doing homework. They'd known Averil was next door, or Zack wouldn't be sitting here calmly, he'd be out scouring the streets looking for him. Averil was quiet, not letting the other boy know that he was there. Zack did his homework the same way he did everything else, as Averil was noticing. Steady. Not slow, not fast. Just inexorable. It would get done, and done perfectly, but you couldn't rush him. He moved at a different pace of life than Averil did. But maybe that was a good thing. There shouldn't be two people that crazy in the same house.

Averil didn't know what to say to him. But he let loose with a half-faked coughing fit so Zack would know he was there. Zack didn't ask him if he was okay, because he'd be afraid Averil was going to yell at him. But his eyes were sharp and watchful for any sign that he needed help. And he'd give help if Averil needed it, even if Averil didn't want it.

In the end, he didn't say anything. He just picked up the blankets off the sofa and carried them to the bedroom and dumped them on Zack's bed. He ought to understand that much.

* * *

_March 28__th_

Averil didn't much like the bus. It wasn't very clean. On a normal day, this didn't really bother him, but today was different. He was wearing the nicest clothes he owned. Beside him, Zack was also cleaned up nicely. They thought they'd have a hard time blending in if they showed up in jeans and t-shirts, but he hadn't taken into account the grime around the windows and the weird stickiness of the upholstery.

He didn't really know what a piano recital was like, and Harold said it was incredibly boring. He said the only exciting part about listening to small children play the piano was snickering at the mistakes and then waving at the parents giving you ugly looks. But Averil was determined to have a good time, because this was for Karen. Thinking about it, he sort of doubted that Karen would make a mistake. There was no way she or her mother would be so serious about it unless she was really good. But then, she was only a little kid. He didn't know what to expect.

"Are you nervous or something?" Zack asked, noticing Averil's restlessness.

"Maybe a little," he admitted. "I just want her to do well, you know? I know I'm not even related to her or anything . . ."

"She'll play better if she knows you're listening," Zack said in response, then resumed looking out the window.

"Speaking of that, I don't know how to let her know we're there without her mother noticing," he fretted. "If we try to talk to Karen, Sandra's bound to see us."

"You told Karen you'd come, right?"

"Yeah."

"She trusts you. You don't have to talk to her. She'll know you're there."

That was almost profound. But then, Averil had been noticing a certain amount of profoundness in Zack over the past couple of weeks. He was still not sure how to behave around this guy, even though he'd technically forgiven him by letting him back into his own room. So he wasn't yelling at him quite so much these days, preferring instead to wonder in silence about what went on in Zack's brain. He'd missed Zack's deep concern for his life, so maybe there were other things he was missing.

Part of his calmer attitude might be the anti-anxiety medication, he mused gloomily. Harold really had made good on his threat to get Averil to the doctor, and pneumonia was only one of the things they'd covered. He now had a stronger asthma medication, a prescription for Cymbalta, and a low-key exercise schedule he was supposed to follow. He didn't like needing any of it. He didn't want to need help just to be normal. But pneumonia had won that argument.

"Hey. Why are you so worried?"

Averil joined Zack in staring out of the window. "She told me you sat with her while I was sick."

"Yeah."

_Thank you . . ._ "You noticed, didn't you? That she's been sort of—off?"

"I thought she was tired."

"Yeah. Tired, and sort of sad. More than usual, I mean. I know her mother is working her really hard for this recital. She's going to be the youngest person performing. She was invited specially. But it's more than that. She said something on Friday . . . She said she was worried about her mother. I asked her what she meant, but she wouldn't tell me." Averil clenched his hands in his lap. "And Dovie said she's come to school in the same clothes two days in a row, a couple of times."

Zack turned to him and lifted his eyebrows a touch. _"So what are you thinking?" _Or maybe it meant, _"You're almost-telling me something and I'd really like you to get on with it and stop wasting time."_

"I don't know what it means," Averil admitted. "At least, not exactly. I just know I'm worried."

"Her mother will be there today."

"Yeah."

"I'll watch her," Zack said simply.

Why was that reassuring? It wasn't like Zack could solve the problem if something was wrong, so there was no reason for that to calm him down. Sort of like there was no reason that getting smacked on the back of the head should keep him from having a panic attack, maybe? Clearly, he was crazier than he'd originally thought.

He put it out of his mind, for now. They got off the bus and went into the school where the recital was being held, sat down in uncomfortable folding chairs, and ignored the weird looks they were getting for being teenaged boys at a kids' piano recital. Averil hoped Karen would know they were there. If this many eyes were on _him_, he'd be scared out of his mind and looking for a familiar face.

Karen wasn't the first one to perform, so the two of them settled down in their chairs and sat in silence while kids they didn't know went onstage. They were sort of cute, all wearing their little dresses or little suits and solemnly arranging their sheaf of papers above the piano keys. It was true that they were all a lot older than Karen, though. Most of them were probably ten or eleven, and they were all pretty good. Averil thought Harold was over-exaggerating about how boring it was—the music wasn't so bad. Zack was probably bored to tears, but then it was Zack so how could you tell?

Finally, it was Karen's turn. She came out on stage wearing a summery-looking white dress with a green sash on it, and her hair was curled. Averil sat up straighter. He could feel Zack's eyes shift over to him, and he grimaced.

"What? She's so _cute_."

"I guess," Zack settled on, still slouched in his seat.

Averil kept to himself his thoughts on Zack's lack of enthusiasm for the one person they were there to see. As Karen was arranging her music, Zack's elbow caught Averil in the side.

"What was that for?" he snapped, but Zack frowned at him. He cast his eyes meaningfully up at the stage, and Averil followed his direction. Oh. There. Standing at the curtain, where Karen had walked on. Karen's mother was there. Averil felt a little cold, when he saw her. She looked . . . strange. Her hair was usually so sleek and sophisticated, but today it looked a little haphazard. She was wearing a nice outfit, with a dark skirt and a green blouse that matched the colour of the sash on Karen's dress, but she had on _way_ too much jewelry and it made her look weird. Her eyes were riveted on Karen intensely.

Then Karen started to play. Averil turned to look at her, and he couldn't look away. She was amazing. It wasn't just her skill in playing, even though it was clear that she was talented. It was her face while she did it. She looked far away. She looked so happy. She wasn't looking at the arrangement of sheet music in front of her, she was looking at some world where Sandra was kind to her and she never had to be afraid of not breathing. Her own playing had transported her. Her fingers were too young to be so graceful, but somehow every note was perfect.

It was inspiring. Averil stopped seeing Karen at the piano. He started looking at a place where he remembered everything, and all of it was okay. It wasn't a stranger sitting beside him, it was someone else that he knew and loved, and Zack was still there at his other side, and he was in between the two boys and he was at peace.

Then Karen turned her head and looked out over the audience, and she saw him there. He smiled at her.

"_I'm proud of you,"_ he mouthed. She smiled back. Then her eyes darted briefly toward her mother. She was nearly finished with her piece, but she wore a frown, now. Averil looked around him and saw most of the audience smiling with wonder at this little girl and how good she was.

He saw Karen take a deep breath, and let it out.

He heard the discordant notes, first one, then two more. Then she evened out and finished playing with a little flourish.

He saw her mother's face change, from intense to shocked to angry. He saw her shoulders stiffen.

He watched Karen calmly rise and walk back to her mother with very little expression on her face, but she belied her calm by looking out at him again and meeting his eyes. He saw in them that she was frightened.

"She did that on purpose," Averil whispered disbelievingly.

"Mmm," Zack said beside him.

"Come on," Averil said urgently, getting to his feet and trying to work his way through the forest of jutting knees and opened programs. " 'Scuse us. Sorry. Excuse me. Pardon." Zack followed him without a word. "How do we get backstage?" he asked him.

Zack shrugged, but took the lead, exiting the auditorium and locating the side entrance that would take them behind the stage.

"I hope we don't get in trouble for being back here."

"You could talk to her tomorrow after school."

Averil shook his head, now moving to get ahead of Zack again. "No. I think . . . I don't know. I just feel like I need to see her right now. Her mother . . . I don't know," he said again, uselessly. He was fighting the beginnings of a panic attack. He suddenly blessed the medication he was on, since it was keeping him from spazzing out too much to help. He really didn't know what he had to help with, he just knew that he should be with Karen, _now_. A weirdly cold and ominous feeling crept over him when he saw the expression on Sandra's face, and he couldn't shake it off.

"Karen?" he called out, striding past other finely-dressed young performers with his eye looking out for a flash of green. He didn't care if that woman saw him, at the moment. He just needed to assure himself that his dear little friend was okay. "Karen!"

Suddenly she zoomed up to him, and he had to stop himself from jumping back in surprise when Karen threw her arms around his waist and looked up at him with wide eyes.

"I messed up," she whispered.

"I . . . I know. It's okay, Karen. You were beautiful up there. It was only a little mistake."

"I wanted to do it."

"Why?"

She let him go and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I just _did_."

"Where are you?" called a strident voice. "Answer me now, young lady! You don't get to mess up like that and then just disappear!" Karen's mother came into view, and she stopped in shock when she saw Averil and Zack standing beside Karen. "_You_," she seethed. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"We came to watch her play," Averil said cautiously. "I knew she must be very good if she was invited to be here, and I just wanted to see for myself."

"I don't like you, and I told you to stay away from my daughter. She screwed up, right there in front of everybody, and _I_ think it's your fault!"

Averil would rather she thought that, then blame Karen. So he said nothing.

"She was distracted by you! I knew it! I told you to stay away!" She suddenly grabbed hold of Karen's arm and yanked her forward. "I told you not to get distracted! Didn't I? What did you do that for? How are you supposed to become a pianist if you behave like a _child_?"

There were a couple of people staring, now."I am a child," Karen whispered, hanging her head down. "I'm still little. You should look at me, and hug me, and feed me and take care of me. You _should_. You're my mother. You made Daddy go away, and I— I wish—"

Her mother slapped her.

Averil sucked in a breath and his whole body jerked. Karen didn't even lift her head or cry out, just stood limply in her mother's grip. The woman was just . . . unraveling. Her eyes were glinting with some kind of crazed anger. She looked at her own offending palm for a moment, as if she couldn't believe what she'd just done with it.

Then she slapped Karen again.

"You're so _stupid_," she screeched.

The other people backstage were beginning to notice, and were turning to stare. None of them seemed to know what to do.

"Did you think you wouldn't be punished for this?" Another slap. "You will practice until your fingers bleed before I'll let you screw up like this again!"

Her hand was raised for another blow, but then someone yanked Karen away from her. Averil had a moment of complete shock to realize it was him. He was the one who'd grabbed Karen.

"Don't touch her," he snarled.

"She's _my_ daughter. It has nothing to do with you!"

Averil wrapped his arms protectively around her, keeping her mother at bay when she tried to snatch her back. "That's right, she's your daughter! So you should love her, not _hit_ her! You treat her like dirt, and I won't let you do it anymore!"

"You! You're the one who's made her so ungrateful! This is your fault!"

She fell on him with a screech. Averil hunched over, shielding Karen as completely as possible. He could feel her fists on his back. He knelt down, trying to get away from her while still keeping his body over Karen's. She kept punching him, over and over, and he jerked with each awful bruising blow to his back. He wasn't about to let go of the little girl, though. Better his back than hers.

The back of Sandra's hand caught him on the head, and he fell sideways, trying not to fall on Karen. Then suddenly the blows stopped and Sandra was hissing and spitting in fury. Averil chanced a look up to see what was happening.

Zack.

He'd wrapped his arms around the woman from behind, holding her back. She was fighting to get away from him, but his grip was firm. He was stronger than she was. Her flailing arms and her screeching didn't faze him—he just set his jaw and ignored her. His eyes were on Averil, though. Making sure he was okay.

"That's enough," he told her firmly.

In response, she screamed in his ear and raked her nails down his arms. He grunted a little, but didn't budge. Averil gasped when he saw blood start oozing to the surface of Zack's arms.

"I called the police!"

The breathless voice was right in his ear, and he jerked around to look at the woman who stood beside him, his arms instinctively tightening around Karen. She was clinging to his shirt and keeping silent. Instead of looking afraid, she looked like she'd lost all hope.

"The police are on the way!" the woman said, her eyes bugging out as she waved her cell phone at him. He was tempted to slap it out of her hand, but he just nodded a little and moved a step back. He looked back at Zack and found that Sandra had gone to her knees. She lowered her head and moaned helplessly. Zack kept hold of one of her arms, to be sure she stayed put. Her body was drawing in on itself.

"I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to do this, I didn't want this to happen." The police arrived quickly (school and children were magic words for getting them to hurry) and found her on the ground sobbing out incoherent apologies. Zack was stationed beside her, just in case, while Averil sat on the ground with Karen in his lap, cuddling her head against his shoulder. She hadn't said a word.

It was utter pandemonium. Cops, handcuffs, curious children being held back by their equally curious parents. Karen was pulled out of Averil's arms so they could question him harshly about his involvement. He tried to keep it simple. He just knew her because her school was across the street. He was here because she'd invited him. He'd come backstage to say congratulations and to leave. No, he'd never seen bruises on her. No, he'd never suspected that Sandra would hit her.

Karen had mentioned her grandmother to Averil only once—she lived in town, but Ruth and Sandra were estranged and they didn't see one another. It was her grandmother they called when it became apparent that Karen's mother would have to be arrested so they could get things sorted out.

Ruth was pleasantly plump, with a soft and kind face and a bun of gray hair. She arrived before they'd even finished questioning Averil, and she flew immediately to Karen's side and brushed at the girl's tangled curls.

"Oh my dear," she kept repeating, over and over. "My poor dear. Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

Karen shook her head. "I'm fine, Grandma. Thank you for coming."

Her grandmother's face fell at that, deepening the wrinkles that outlined her mouth and forehead. "Oh, my dear. What has she done to you?"

Karen frowned up at her with curiosity.

"You make it sound like I'm a stranger. I'm your grandmother. It's okay if you're upset. You can tell me if you're hurt."

"I'm not. Averil was protecting me. He held me and let Mother hit him so she couldn't hurt me."

"Who did you say?"

Karen darted to him, interrupting the officer's questioning to attach herself to Averil's side. Without thinking, he put his arm around her and let her lean her head on him.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

"Did my mother hurt you?"

"No, honey, I'm okay," he assured her. He saw the old woman standing nearby. "Is that your grandmother?"

She hurried forward and took Averil's hand and squeezed it. "I'm Ruth. Thank you for looking out for Karen, young man." She shook her head. "If I had known such a thing was happening . . ."

"I don't think it was," he offered, returning the firm squeeze. "I think—I hope—Karen would have told me if it was like that."

"She would?"

Karen kept her face against him. He wondered if she was just embarrassed, or if she was frightened and didn't want to say so. He absently rubbed his hand over her back while he explained what he'd just told the police. Unlike the suspicious officers who were intent on discovering wrongdoing and getting out again, her grandmother was more attentive to his claim to be her friend. It was clear that Karen trusted him.

"Isn't a boy your age more interested in cars or computers or what have you? You choose to spend your time with Karen, instead?"

"Well, I live and work right across the street from her school," he shrugged. "I just talk to her for a few minutes before I go to work. She's a really sweet girl, and I really hated to see her alone all the time."

"And this other boy?"

"Huh?"

"The one hovering around your shoulder pretending not to be worried."

"Yo," Zack said, deadpan.

"Oh, him. He's just . . . Uh—"

"He lives across the street, too," Karen spoke up. "He's really nice."

Zack looked surprised by that declaration, but he accepted a warm handshake and thanks from Ruth.

The police were more interested in getting the situation resolved than seeing the participants make friends with one another. They had a job to do, and part of that job was arresting Karen's mother and confirming her grandmother's identity. Averil was unable to speak with Ruth any further, but he had to keep himself from laughing aloud when he heard her snap,

"Of course I'm going to take Karen home! What kind of horrible person would refuse to take care of their own sweet granddaughter?"

The police were finished questioning him, for the moment, but he stayed to make sure Karen went home safely. He saw Ruth approach Sandra, who had her hands cuffed behind her back and was meekly letting herself be escorted out. Ruth touched Sandra's cheek and spoke to her. Whatever she said made Sandra begin to cry. Averil felt, weirdly, like a wail was trying to escape him, too. They should have been able to have that moment without any witnesses, but Sandra had messed it all up. Ruth slipped out of the way so the police could take Sandra away, and she took Karen's hand and led her out after them. Karen turned for one more glance at Averil and Zack. She lifted her hand for a moment, then followed Ruth.

A hand fell on his shoulder and squeezed it a little. Without thinking about it, he lifted his own hand and laid it over the comforting touch. He didn't know what would happen to Karen now. If she moved in with her grandmother, she might switch schools. He might never see her again. What if she got lonely again? What if she didn't like it with her grandmother, and Averil wasn't there for her to talk to?

"She'll find a way to let you know when she's okay."

"Yeah," he agreed after a moment. Then he stiffened and looked at his shoulder. "AGH!" He jumped forward and held his hand out, away from his body. "Why— what— why? I have to _wash_ this hand! Augh!"

Zack just stared at him for a moment. "Did she hurt you?"

"What?"

"Did Karen's mom hurt your back?"

"Not really," he lied. He glanced down and grimaced. "You can't take the bus with your arms like that. We'd better call Harold."

* * *

It took days to sort everything out. They spoke to Averil again, and to Zack, and to Harold. They visited the school and talked to Dovie, Sasha, and Oscar. They interviewed Karen's doctor. They made such a big deal of it that someone else got involved.

The house phone rang, showing an unknown number. Averil picked it up.

"Hello?"

"May I speak to Averil Reed, please?"

"This is he."

"This is Maiko Porter, Averil. How are you?"

"F-fine. What can I do for you, Ms. Porter?"

"Averil, don't you remember your own case worker? I told you that you can call me Maiko!"

"Oh, right, sorry," he tried to laugh. _Case worker?_ he thought wildly. Right. Her name was on some of that paperwork that was stashed in Zack's desk. She was why he was living here instead of some kind of halfway house. Maiko Porter. Sure. "In that case, what can I do for you, Maiko?"

"I heard about that little incident on Sunday. Sandra May, I think the name was? You saw her abusing her daughter and helped to stop her?"

"Yeah," he said slowly.

"You doing okay? That can't have been easy."

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You had someone else there to help, it looks like, someone you called your roommate. I don't think I remember Zack Williams. You've moved, it looks like."

"Yeah, I did. Closer to my new school."

"I'm really proud of you for taking charge of your education. That's so great! Is school going well for you, still?"

"Yes, pretty good."

"Still, it must be hard for you to be separated from Lee so much. He's still living at the apartment with those other guys?"

"Uh, yeah," Averil said, not knowing if he was right but feeling like a vise had just clamped down on his head. He was seeing stars, and he had to lean against the counter or he'd have dropped the phone.

"You guys didn't get in a fight, did you?"

"No, nothing like that," he said randomly. He had no idea if they'd gotten in a fight. He didn't know who Lee was, and he didn't want to know because it was splitting his skull open.

"Your health is okay?"

"Yeah. It's better, actually. The house I'm living in belongs to Zack's grandfather, he's a doctor, he's been looking out for me. And I have a job now, to save up money for college. Things are great."

"I'm glad to hear that, Averil. I'm so glad things are working out for you. I just got concerned when I heard about this incident with the police, so I wanted to check on you. Was Lee there, too, by any chance?"

"No, he was busy," Averil muttered, panting with pain and closing his eyes. "There's a pot of water about to boil over on the stove so I have to go now but it was really nice talking to you Maiko thanks for checking on me goodbye!"

He let the phone drop and sat down on the floor. He just rested his face in his arms and fought the pain until a sizzling sound alerted him that the water really _was_ boiling over now. He jumped up to take care of it.

"Hey, who was that?" Zack asked, wandering into the kitchen and peering into the pot with interest.

"Stay out of there," Averil snapped, waving a wooden spoon threateningly. "No one, just another call about Karen."

"You talked to Dovie?"

"Yeah," he said, his pique with Zack and his pain from the call both forgotten. He smiled. "She'll be back at school tomorrow. Turns out Ruth lives really near here, and she doesn't want Karen to have to switch schools. And she said it would be a shame if Karen lost good friends like me and— and you," he finished in a mumble.

"That's good. What's for dinner?"

"Nothing, unless you get out of the kitchen and let me work!"

* * *

_**A/N: **__I know, I know—I skipped the scene where she throws boiling water on Watanuki. Sorry, it just didn't fit. I did, however, add in some injuries for Zack, whereas Doumeki was not harmed in this part of xxxHolic. Zack hasn't been taking enough physical abuse in this story. _:D


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

_April_

"This is great, you guys," Lee said.

Sara, wearing a cheap plastic tiara and laughing while Finn made a courtly bow and kissed her hand, looked up. "It is, it's wonderful. Thank you."

"Yeah, thanks."

They each had two gifts to unwrap. The apartment was festooned with streamers in pink and green, and there were shiny gold balloons getting underfoot all over the kitchen. Each time they accidentally popped one, they laughed. Finn made a cake, and had made Tom help him decorate it.

Lee wondered what Ril was doing today. His good cheer faltered, but he shoved the feelings under and kept his smile firmly in place. After all, it was Sara's birthday, too.

* * *

"I can't believe she's making me work on my birthday," Averil grumbled, shooting a glare at Yvonne. When she said they should have a picnic, she hadn't mentioned that Averil would be packing the food for it.

"You didn't ask for the day off," she sang at him, leaning back in the grass and grinning up at the sky. Sunny was showing Zack how to make a daisy chain. Harold was sitting off to the side, smoking a cigarette and giving them all a lazy smile.

That smile was hiding awful, awful things, Averil found out. He actually nearly sent himself into a panic attack when he opened the envelope Harold handed him and found a thousand dollars and an admonition that he had to use it for a car or college. Zack smacked him on the back of the head to snap him out of it, and told him he got the same thing last month.

When he got home, Averil tucked the envelope into the back of the framed photograph he had brought with him. He still didn't know who was in the picture, but it seemed awfully symbolic to put his gift there.

* * *

Lee came home from work extremely late one Friday night, and he trudged up the stairs with a weary feeling. It had been too busy for him to get any homework done, so he'd have to do it all tomorrow—with Rob assaulting him with questions or just plain assaulting him, since he'd promised to help him study.

Sara's head popped out her front door, startling a girly squeak out of him. She giggled.

"Your brother will kill you if he catches you."

"He's still at work," she said, a spark of worry in her eyes.

"Is it just me, or is he working a lot lately?"

"He and Yuri both," she answered, then shrugged. "Hi. How was work?"

"Um, fine . . .?"

The question was what she was doing out here in her pajamas when she ought to be asleep, and she knew it.

"Guess what?"

"What?"

"I had a treatment today."

"I know," he frowned, stepping forward and taking her hands in his. "Are you okay?"

"I didn't get sick," she beamed at him.

"That's great," he beamed back.

"I know. And yes, I've had lots of water," she cut him off.

"I'm glad."

He wasn't just glad, he was incredibly relieved. Without planning to, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. They stood in silence, soaking in the comfort of just being together. Lee felt the weariness creep back in, but he'd stay here all night, just like this, if he could.

It was Sara who broke the spell. "I just wanted to tell you." Her hands slipped out of his, her feet took her a step away. "Go to bed, okay? You look tired."

"Thanks for telling me. Goodnight, Sara."

"Goodnight."

He lay down in bed and looked forward to getting through his homework tomorrow as quickly as he could, so he could spend some time with her before work. It would be much easier if they lived in the _same_ apartment. Maybe someday, if Lee managed to make something of himself . . .

* * *

"Wake _up_, damn you!"

Finn didn't just roll over, he rolled right out of bed and dropped into an obvious fighting stance, his fists drawn in close to his sides and his knees bent. Caleb had gone as far as turning on the lamp, since it had been difficult to rouse him. With the advantage of light, he could see perfectly the depth of the conviction in Finn's eyes.

"If you touch me again, I'll kill you," he spat out.

"I'd believe that if you had any idea who I am right now."

He blinked. "Caleb?"

"I'd love to see you try, by the way."

Finn stood up straight, rolling his shoulders and shaking it off. "You don't think I could?" he asked in a rather ominous way.

Caleb realized he didn't know. He was a big guy, and he could hold his own in a fight. But seeing the murder in Finn's eyes and seeing the cords of muscle stand out on his skinny arms made him wonder.

"I'm not afraid of you, dumbass."

Finn _almost_ smiled at that, and sat down on the edge of his bed. He crossed his arms and sort of hugged himself.

"Who did you think I was, just now?"

Finn looked down at the floor, his lips making a grim line across his face. "Nobody."

Caleb reached out and flipped Finn's hair out of his face, just to test him, and Finn flinched.

"You're not supposed to be afraid of me, either," Caleb growled, sitting down beside him.

"I'm not."

"Bullshit. Maybe it's not me, but you're all . . . Mmph." There wasn't really a word to describe the vibe he was getting off Finn right now. Shame, almost. He'd said "again," and he hadn't meant Caleb. God. Maybe he didn't have much of an imagination, but he could guess.

Finn was staring at the wall.

"You're not going to sleep on your own, are you?"

Finn flinched again. "Have I mentioned that I don't really like you?"

"Yeah, yeah," Caleb said, and shoved him sideways. Finn obeyed, flopping bonelessly onto the bed. "Go to sleep. I'll stay here for a while."

When he thought Finn was asleep, he got up to turn out the lamp. Finn's hand groped sleepily toward him and clutched at the hem of his shirt. He wasn't really awake, only enough to still need Caleb's presence beside him.

"Ah, screw it," Caleb muttered, and laid down beside him. "I'll just sleep here."

* * *

Averil winced as he sat down on his bed and spread his textbook over his knees. He tried not to make it obvious, because Zack was in here, but he could hardly help the fact that Karen's mother had bruised his back.

"Are you okay?" Zack said, already starting to get up to take action if he wasn't.

"I'm fine. Good god, overreact much? I told you she didn't hurt me that badly." He had opened to the wrong chapter, and he flicked at the pages to turn them over.

"You never tell the truth about that kind of stuff."

"Well, I'm telling the truth now. I'm fine." _Flick. Flick_. He hoped the sound was conveying his irritation. At least he was _trying_ not to shout so much.

"Okay."

It was against his better judgment to ask, but it came out before he could stop it. "Why do you worry about me so much, anyway?"

"You never tell yourself the truth, either."

Averil didn't have any response to that. He couldn't shake his suspicion that Zack had wanted to say something else.

* * *

"I hate Mondays," Ian mumbled as he surveyed the living room. He rose before dawn to get to the bakery, where he had to put up with Brian's incomprehensible cheerfulness, and he didn't get to drag his puffy-eyed and exhausted self home until noon. "Why does Gray get Mondays off?"

Ian went to bed around eight o'clock on Sunday nights, so he'd elected it to be their Chinese takeout night. And because things never went right in his life, there'd been a mix-up with his order and they hadn't gotten to eat until eight o'clock. He'd left the coffee table buried in little white boxes and crawled into bed. There was nothing he hated more than leaving a mess like that.

They were still there. Gray had every right to sleep in on Mondays, but couldn't he rouse his sorry butt for ten minutes to straighten up in here? There were still used chopsticks sitting on the table, for god's sake. Well, he'd clean it up later. After a nap. He was too tired for this crap right now.

He knocked on Gray's door. "Hey, I'm home."

Silence greeted him. Frowning, he poked his head into the room.

"Gray?"

He wasn't in there. Ian pulled his head out and made a search of the apartment, which took all of ten seconds. Gray wasn't home, and a call to his cell phone got no answer. Ian paced the apartment restlessly for a minute, then scowled at himself.

"He's been getting more independent ever since we visited the Pigeon. That's a good thing. He's an adult." Ian snorted. "And now I'm talking to myself. Quit worrying like a girl and go to sleep."

Decisively, he went to the bathroom to pee and splash some water on his face. Then he started pacing again. Who was he kidding, to think he'd be able to sleep when he didn't know where Gray was?

The door opened, and Ian heard bags rustling as Gray struggled to juggle what he was carrying and get inside.

"Hey."

"Hey, yourself. What have you been up to?" he asked, trying not to sound accusing.

"I got you some lunch," Gray said guilelessly, holding up the bags. "Well, actually, I went grocery shopping because we were out of milk and hamburger meat, but I got you a burrito from that drive-through place. I figured you'd be too tired to make yourself something before you took a nap." Ian gaped at him.

"Anybody home in there?" Gray teased as he waved the burrito in Ian's face. He was clearly asking to get his ass handed to him. If Ian hadn't been so confused, he would have obliged.

"Yeah, uh, thanks," Ian stammered. Gray was running errands? And doing nice things for him? His journey of self-discovery after their trip to California had so far been limited to making fewer self-deprecating comments and going to judo lessons without Ian. This was new.

"I washed your sheets this morning. I knew you were gonna do it this afternoon, but now they're clean for you to sleep on." He was trying to ignore the way Ian was staring at him, but it was beginning to affect him. "I was just trying to be helpful," he said brusquely.

Ian dug into his food. "Well, you're doing a good job. What brought this on?"

Gray shrugged, his tension beginning to reveal itself in the way he threw the groceries into their proper places. "I don't want you to take care of me anymore."

"I thought we settled this back in February," Ian growled.

"I'm not talking about that!" Gray snapped. "You've been looking after me for so long, and I just think it's my turn! I want to be more— more— I don't know! Stop _looking_ at me like that!"

Ian caught Gray's hand as it came sailing toward him. He couldn't say he was totally clear on what Gray was trying to do, but he was getting the idea. Gray was trying to become a more equal partner in all of this. He was still learning things about taking care of a household, things that Ian had known since his mother had drilled it into him as a child. But where Gray had been unsure, wide-eyed, and bitter, he was taking the initiative now. Ian sure wasn't going to complain.

So he just held onto Gray's hand, keen on avoiding a fight, and calmly ate his food with the other hand.

"This is nice, Gray. Thank you."

"I didn't get to the living room yet," Gray said sheepishly. "I'll stay quiet while I'm cleaning so you can sleep."

Ian let him go, but he just shook his head. "It's no big deal. I'll take care of it when I get up."

Gray nodded in agreement, but he still cleaned up while Ian napped. Ian was a neat freak, and he was calling empty take-out cartons no big deal? Gray wasn't stupid, thanks very much.

* * *

"Sorry," Sara apologized as Lee helped her get from her sofa to her bed. She was leaning on him heavily. "I'm just tired."

"Get some rest," he told her, brushing his hand through her hair. He didn't say what he was thinking: that she shouldn't be so tired, not all the time like this. "When do Tom and Yuri get home?"

"Yuri should be on his way. Tom won't let him work too late."

"Is Tom doing that overnight shift at the grocery store again?"

"Yeah."

"Why are they working so much, lately?"

Sara buried her face in her pillow. "Cancer's kind of expensive," she whispered.

Lee put his hand on her back, but he didn't say anything. Intellectually, she had to know that nobody blamed her for the hardship, but her heart probably needed the comfort. He wanted to help, but he struggled just to contribute to his own household expenses.

Maybe he should drop out of school for a while.

* * *

"You've disappointed me so much."

He actually sounded like he was crying.

"You betrayed me, Finn."

"What?" Finn squawked. "Who betrayed who _first_, Arthur?"

"I loved you like you were my own, you know. Don't you know what you've done to me?"

"You are so seriously unhinged. Quit calling me," Finn snapped, and hung up on him.

* * *

Tom collapsed into bed, and Yuri shifted over a little to make room. He immediately moved back once Tom was settled, curling comfortably into his side.

"I might withdraw from my classes," Tom said into the quiet.

"What?"

"You're the one who keeps bugging me about how I'm working myself to death."

"I could help more, you know."

"No, you can't. You need to take care of yourself or you'll get sick."

"I know you're right, which is why I'm listening to you. But I hate this, Tom. I hate watching you do this to yourself."

"It's for Sara."

"I know. The amazing part is that you don't even seem to know how amazing you really are. I didn't even know I _could_ love you more, but I do, every day. Tom . . . you are absolutely not dropping your classes. You're due to _graduate_ next month."

"I know, but I'm too exhausted to keep doing this. My professors are starting to notice. I'm late on a couple of papers."

Yuri sighed painfully and laid his head on Tom's chest. "You could call your father," he said softly.

Tom snorted. "Yeah. If he's even there anymore."

"I'm serious, Tom."

"What would that accomplish?"

"He'd come back, and he'd help out. I know he lost his way, but he loves you guys. You know that he does. He'll already be devastated when he finds out you were keeping this from him. If you end up delaying your graduation and making yourself sick on top of it . . ."

"I'm not keeping anything from him. He's the one who can't be reached at the only phone number I have. If he cared, he'd be here already."

"That's not fair."

"I'm done talking about this. I'm tired."

Yuri sighed again. "Okay. Goodnight."

"Night, love," Tom said, almost absently, linking his hand through Yuri's where it rested on his chest. He lay awake for a long time.

* * *

"That's enough," Caleb said from behind Finn's shoulder.

Finn barely even heard him, typing furiously. How they expected him to write a twenty-page paper when he was already polishing his thesis and working with Professor Rodriguez to arrange his defense panel was one of life's mysteries—and another was how he, and students like him, managed to deliver. He stopped for a moment to read a sentence he'd just written, and his fingers quested out for the glass of Johnnie Walker that had been keeping him company most of the evening.

"That's enough of that, too," Caleb said decisively, moving it out of his reach.

His train of thought broken, Finn looked up. "Do you mind? I'm only trying to finish my degree, here."

"It's two a.m. Finish it tomorrow."

Finn looked at the clock in the corner of his monitor with surprise. "Oh. Okay." He stood up and then sat right back down again. "Whoo," he hooted. "What time did I _start_ drinking?"

"You're such an asshole," Caleb sighed. "Get in bed."

"But look, there's still some left."

Caleb slammed half a tumbler of whiskey without so much as a grimace. "There, now it's gone."

Finn stood up and headed for the bedroom. He only had to stop and grab hold of the wall once, for which he was rather proud. He had to sit down so he wouldn't lose his balance when he pulled his shirt over his head. The pajama pants he usually slept in were at the foot of his bed, and he nearly fell off the bed when he reached for them. He didn't _actually _fall, because Caleb caught him and pushed him upright again. Finn pulled himself together and managed to swap pants without injuring himself. Then Caleb grabbed him under the arms and hauled him up again.

"What are you doing?"

"Your dreams are always worse when you drink," he said.

"So?"

Caleb let him fall very unceremoniously onto Caleb's bed. "I'm too tired to pull this bed-switching shit halfway through the night. I'm planning ahead." Caleb didn't change his routine any, he still lay down on his side with his face to the door. He just had to lay a little closer to the edge than normal.

Finn gave up the illusion that he had any control over his own life. In his drunken state, it seemed like a perfectly fine idea to face the opposite direction and press his back against Caleb's and fall asleep with the steady rhythm of Caleb's breath dictating his own.

* * *

Averil hadn't put much effort into dinner tonight—he had a lot of homework. He'd settled for spaghetti and garlic bread. Then he decided there weren't enough dishes to worry about running the dishwasher, so he just filled the sink with soapy water and set to work. Zack joined him almost immediately, taking up a position at his side with a clean towel.

They worked in silence for a minute.

"Why are you staring at me, you creep?"

Zack just shrugged and opened the cupboard to start putting the dishes away. It only took Averil a minute to get them all washed, and he debated taking the towel to get things done faster so he could get back to studying. He looked at Zack's arms to be sure that the fingernail gouges had healed. He'd been in worse shape after that episode than Averil had, honestly. Bruises were nothing, Zack could have got an infection in those. Or something worse, God knew what poison that hell bitch had in her claws. Where did he get off, being so damned heroic all the time? You wouldn't know it, to look at him. He always looked like he was about to fall asleep, like he did right now. But he could _move_ when the occasion called for it.

"So. Are you staring at me just to retaliate?"

"I am _not_ staring," Averil snarled, throwing the dish towel down. "Don't flatter yourself, you jerk." He stomped off to get started on his homework. Heroic and completely _annoying_.

* * *

When Gray came home from judo, he went straight to his room. Ian didn't like it when he did that, since it nearly always meant someone had hurt him and he was keeping it to himself. But Ian didn't go check on him, as much as he wanted to. This had happened before, and any effort on his part just earned him a dose of invective or some physical violence. He just watched t.v. while he cooked a couple of pork chops and baked potatoes, then decided to turn in early so Gray would come out of his room.

"There's supper on the stove!" he called out as he walked past the closed door.

He needed the privacy, anyway. He had a bunch of unopened mail that he'd hid from Gray with enormous effort, and he was now ready to take a look. He dumped out the box he'd been collecting.

Glossy brochures spilled over the bed, from colleges and universities around the country. Ian settled in for the long haul, prepared to look at every single one of them tonight and pick out the best ones. He felt strange as the colorful brochures fenced him in. He was apprehensive about this. The guy who'd gotten into Yale Law School was nervous about college. Maybe he just wouldn't do it. Gray didn't expect him to take it seriously, anyway. Despite saying this to himself, he looked over the details and photographs for well over an hour without even realizing it.

The knock on his door startled him so much he almost jumped right off the bed. He cleared his throat to cover the yelp that had started to come out. Gray never bothered him when he was in his room.

"What is it?"

"Uh, I just . . . Never mind."

Ian didn't like the sound of that, not one bit. He gathered up the brochures in one scoop of his arms, dropped them into the box, and shoved the box under his bed.

"Hang on, I'm coming."

"No, it's okay." Gray's voice wasn't _that_ muffled by the door, he had to be mumbling. Embarrassed, maybe? Had he accidentally set the kitchen on fire or something?

Ian flung the door open.

"What did you need?" he asked carefully, since Gray had flinched upon seeing him.

"I just . . . Um, a while ago, you said that— you said I could bother you, if I needed— but don't worry about it, it's nothing important . . ."

Ian could see the kitchen from here and he could see that Gray had not touched the food he'd left out for him.

"You can bother me if you need something," Ian assured him, and just barely stopped himself from asking what Gray's problem was. It was actually damned obvious. The kid was scratching at his arms in the worst way, and he looked twitchy and pissed off. "All right, tell me what's going on." He dragged Gray inside and sat them both on his bed. "Someone say something to you, Gray Eyes?"

"There's just this new student at the studio who was getting to me," he shrugged. "He was talking about college and he kept looking at me like I'm stupid or something. Instructor Arashi could tell what was going on, and she invited me to spar with her, and this kid was all impressed by it." His fingers were clenching and unclenching so he wouldn't scratch at himself. "I hated that. I shouldn't have had to. Where did he get off making assumptions about me? I wanted to kick his ass, but I didn't want to disappoint Arashi."

"You shouldn't have had to. But you did good. You held onto your temper."

Gray flopped backwards and stared at the ceiling. "Yeah."

Ian hadn't seen him this depressed in a long time. He knew Gray had been thinking about the future, just like he had. Unfortunately, Gray had a lot less confidence about it. He thought he was unskilled and stupid, no matter how much he wanted to prove otherwise. It had been getting to him more than he'd been letting on, clearly. He hadn't had much to say for a while.

"Gray?"

" 'Is not today enough?' " he whispered, still staring at the ceiling. " 'Why do I peer into the darkness of the day to come? Is not tomorrow even as yesterday? And will the day that follows change thy doom?' "

"Doom? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm quoting Percy Shelley."

"Quoting who?"

"He's a poet. 'My head is heavy, my limbs are weary, and it is not life that makes me move.' "

"You're freaking me out."

"I know."

"You're quoting poetry at me, and you haven't done that since you got clean. Talk to me, man, tell me what's going on in there."

"Not right now."

Ian cautiously lay down beside Gray, staring at the ceiling with him. He slowly worked his arm under the younger man's shoulders and used it to pull Gray close to him.

"You're gonna be all right, you know. I'm gonna be here. Maybe I don't know what's wrong, but I'll help if I can."

"You always do," Gray muttered, wriggling deeper into his embrace. "I'm sorry, Ian. I'm just having a bad day. I can't get my mind off things."

"I can tell. It's making me nervous."

Gray let out a bitter chuckle. "That's why I usually don't bother you with it. This is the worst I get, if it makes you feel any better. When something stupid happens and it reminds me how long it's been since I last had a fix."

"You mean you get like this often? And I haven't noticed?"

"I'm usually good about hiding it. I just didn't want to hide it today. I wanted to tell you." His voice became tentative. "You said I could."

"I want you to," Ian assured him. "I oughta qualify what I meant. The thing that's making me nervous is that I don't know how to help you. I don't like it when you get in a dark place like this, because I don't know how to fix it. That's all."

"I'm repulsive when I'm like this," Gray protested, even though he was pushing closer to Ian instead of pulling away. "I don't know why you want to be around me."

Ian didn't think _"I love you"_ was really what Gray wanted or needed to hear. "This ain't as bad as you're making it out to be, for one thing," he said dryly. "Everybody's got their bad days, and if I can't put up with yours, I don't have the right to say I care about you. Other than that, you're just about the most important person in the world to me. Being here for you is all I want. And I know you'll pull out of this, because you always do. You can't know how I respect you for that. You try so hard, and I'm going do my best to make sure you get rewarded for that. I want good things to happen to you."

"_You're_ the best thing that's ever happened to me," Gray murmured. "Or ever will." Then his hands crept up to scratch at his arms again. He noticed almost immediately, and dug his fingers into his skin to make himself stop. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize for stuff that isn't your fault," Ian told him firmly, giving him one last squeeze and then sitting up. "Come on, up you get." Gray sat up beside him. "Go get ready for bed."

Gray made a face at him. "You're sending me to _bed_?"

"Not exactly. You're sleeping in here."

Gray cocked an eyebrow at him. "Why?"

"You need to. And it'll make me feel better."

Gray just stared for a minute, then flopped back down and started looking at the ceiling again. " 'O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.' " Far from sounding melancholy, there was a strange, almost teasing smile creeping onto his face. " 'It is the star to every wand'ring bark, whose worth's unknown although his height be taken.' "

"Still not getting you, but less scary."

" 'Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom.' " He sat up again and smirked at Ian.

"There you go with the doom again. Did you just tell me you love me, Gray Eyes?"

"No, I said you love me." He bounced to his feet. "As for me . . . Maybe a little more Shelley: 'I can give not what men call love; but wilt thou accept not the worship the heart lifts above and the heavens reject not— The desire of the moth for the star, of the night for the morrow, the devotion to something afar from the sphere of our sorrow?' "

"So . . . You worship me, then?"

"It's poetry, Ian, just go with it," Gray said, patting his shoulder as if in sympathy.

"Well, so long as you leave out the darkness and doom stuff, I think I could get to like it. Even if I don't know what the hell you just said."

"It's not important. I need to brush my teeth. I'll be back."

He did come back, and lay on top of the covers because he hated feeling restricted, and fell asleep quickly. Ian was awake for a long time, just listening to him breathe and being thankful for the simple miracle that Gray was still around for him to listen to. He eventually slept. He woke in the wee hours of the morning to hear Gray's voice, rough with sleep, just behind him.

" 'O you whom I often and silently come where you are, that I may be with you; As I walk by your side, or sit near, or remain in the same room with you, Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is playing within me.' "

Ian didn't think he was supposed to hear that, so he made a show of stretching and groaning and pretending to wake up.

"Were you saying something?" he rumbled.

"No," Gray said. "I have to go to work. Go back to sleep."

Gray left to shower and get to the bakery. Ian stretched again, then buried his face under a pillow. "Yep, I could get to like it," he mumbled.

* * *

Sara was sniffling in the car on the way to school, and Lee looked at her sharply to see if she was crying. She wasn't. She gave him a sunny smile and said her nose just felt itchy. But the sniffling kept up all morning, and she'd started coughing by lunchtime. Apparently, that regimen of medication that was supposed to boost her immune system wasn't doing its job.

"Sara, you can't get a cold," Lee said in alarm. "That's not good."

"I know," she sighed. "But I've already got it. Don't worry, I'll be fine."

She went home early the next day. Tom left class to take her to her doctor immediately, but the cough suppressant wasn't a miracle cure. She stayed in bed sleeping for a couple of days. Lee skipped school the second day to stay with her so Tom and Yuri wouldn't have to.

"Thanks for staying with me," she mumbled, the tip of her nose red from how many times she'd blown it.

"You're welcome," Lee said. "Do you want anything?"

"Just read to me," she requested.

Slightly amused, he agreed and shuffled through her collection of books. She decided that she wanted _Peter Pan_. Lee would have read the stock reports if that's what she wanted, so it was no hardship for him. But he was nervous about why she might have picked a story about children never growing up.

* * *

There was nothing but heavy breathing on the other end of the line.

"Really, Arthur? You've resorted to this? You think _breathing_ at me will get me to spill all my secrets to you?"

More breathing.

"Forget it. I don't have any. There is nothing and no one important to me, and I don't know anything you'd care to know, unless you have a pressing desire to learn Latin. There's nothing you can use against me."

He just kept breathing.

"You have become so creepy, you know that?"

Finn hung up again.

* * *

"Welcome home, Averil," Harold's voice called from the living room. Ghostly voices echoed his greeting—he was watching t.v.

"Thanks," Averil replied, shutting the front door.

"You're awfully late."

"I walked Karen home. She's so excited that I can do that with her now." He went into the kitchen while he was talking to put down the bag of groceries and take off his backpack. "I'm glad there's a bright side of some kind. Hey, I have something new I want to try for dinner. Feeling adventurous?"

Harold chuckled. "I don't argue with your cooking, boy, you know that."

Averil came into the room, curious eyes on the television. "What are you watching?"

"I'm feeling nostalgic," Harold shrugged. "It's a home video of a weekend we spent skiing in the mountains."

Harold looked younger in the video, and was sitting in front of a fireplace in a small, cozy room. A young boy was seated beside him, glaring down at the mug in his hands.

"You don't like Mama's hot chocolate?" asked a sweet voice from behind the camera.

"That's our Zack," younger-Harold chuckled, ruffling the boy's hair. "If it's not perfect, he doesn't want it."

"_You_ m-make it, Grandfather."

Harold leaned back, stretching luxuriously. "And leave my nice, warm place by the fire? What if someone steals it while I'm gone?"

"I'll watch it f-f-for you."

"Oh, all right," Harold said, pretending this was under duress. "If I have to."

"I'm just going to throw myself off the lift tomorrow, then," said the voice behind the camera, dryly.

"N-no, Mama," said the stolid little boy, setting his undesirable cup aside. "I still l-love you even if you don't m-m-make good chocolate."

"Thank you, baby," she said, and her arm entered the camera's scope as she reached out to him.

"Dad s-says I'm too old to be your b-baby."

"Your dad also has a pig's ass where his face oughta be," Harold's voice called out from off-camera.

"Dad!" Zack's mother admonished.

Zack didn't even crack a smile. Clearly, he hadn't changed much. Although there was one thing . . .

"So what's wrong with him?" Averil asked, gesturing at the screen.

"Hmm? Oh, you mean the stutter?"

"Yeah. What's with that?"

"Who knows? Some psychologist had this bullshit explanation that it was a subconscious response to his father being a colossal dick. I prefer to think Zack never let his dad get to him, and he was just plain old born with it. Either way, a year of speech therapy fixed it."

"Is that why he never talks?"

"Eh, I doubt it. I think he just waits until he's got something to say." Harold's eyes turned from the television to Averil, sharp. "You're going to use this against him, aren't you?"

"Use what against me?" Zack's voice called out, and they heard the front door close.

"Who says we're talking about YOU?"

"You wouldn't use anything against anybody else," Zack said logically, entering the room still carrying his archery gear. His eyes took in the video. "Oh, that."

"Knowing something embarrassing about you just makes me feel better."

"It's not really embarrassing," he shrugged, peeling off his finger guard. "I had a speech impediment. So what?"

Averil glared at him. "Fine. Then my proclivity to randomly lose my shit and start hyperventilating isn't embarrassing, either!"

"I never said it was," Zack pointed out. "What's for dinner?"

* * *

Sara was obviously too tired to be here, and it made Lee's stomach clench to watch her struggle to keep going. Even Rob was noticing the way she was dragging herself and the exhausted way she blew her nose.

"Dude, maybe she should go home," he said in alarm. "She doesn't look so good."

"Sara? What's wrong?"

"It's nothing, really," she said, pulling out a smile that was too weary to be convincing.

"Sara."

"I just sort of ache, that's all."

"Where?"

"All over."

"How long have you felt like this?"

She laughed bitterly. "Months. But I started feeling kind of bad last night."

"You need to go home."

She hung her head. "Probably."

Lee sheltered her with his arms so no one else could see that she was crying. That was the worst part, that she was too tired to wait until no one could see her. What if she was getting really sick or something? She was already fighting leukaemia, for god's sake. When was it going to be enough?

* * *

Caleb had perfunctorily removed the alcohol from Finn's possession as soon as he came home from practice.

"You barely slept last night, and now you're getting drunk. You don't need to have a shitty night twice in a row."

"Says you," Finn muttered, but didn't argue. Someone had to worry about whether or not he became an alcoholic. "I thought you were going out with some of your teammates."

Caleb shrugged. "So I can drink crappy low-carb beer and shoot the shit with people I barely know? No thanks. I had to make sure you weren't doing this," he said, waggling the bottle of rum between his fingers.

In other words, he gave up a night out with his teammates so he could come home and make sure Finn got to sleep tonight.

"You're taking this responsibility thing way too far."

"I already leave you alone all the time for my games, and you're always wiped out and stressed when I come home. I'm not taking it far enough, obviously."

Finn didn't know how Caleb could argue this point, since he was talking while getting Finn a glass of water and making him drink it. He'd started making him drink cranberry juice every morning, too. Somebody had to maintain the health of Finn's single, overworked kidney. Finn drank the water without argument and then followed Caleb to the bedroom. While they were changing clothes, Finn told him about what he'd missed earlier in the day.

"Sara's sick."

"Uh, yeah, I know."

"No, I mean, she had to come home from school again."

"Is the kid all right?"

"Of course not."

"Well, shit. I'll try to make some time tomorrow to work on his swing or something."

"There you go, being Big Daddy," Finn said, but his sing-song teasing was absent. He climbed into Caleb's bed.

"I thought I caught you before you could get drunk."

"What's it matter?" Finn sighed. "I'm going to wake up scared shitless anyway."

They were developing something of a routine, laying back to back. Caleb always knew when Finn woke, and all he had to do was roll over to be where he was needed. Half the time, it was grabbing his arms to keep him from lashing out, the other half it was putting a hand in his hair or on his shoulder just so he'd know he wasn't alone.

Except tonight, it was the dream about looking in the mirror, the double images, one bloodied and one clean. He told the bloodied one that Arthur had found him, and he was shoved violently away. He woke up in tears. After a moment of enduring Caleb awkwardly patting his shoulder, he flipped over and buried his face against his bedfellow and stopped pretending he could face this alone. Caleb was surprised, to say the least, but he attempted to be helpful by not pushing Finn right off the bed. When he realized Finn meant to stay that way all night, he just slung his arm over the blond and went back to sleep.

* * *

Lee came home from school and went directly to Sara's apartment. She'd been so sick today that Tom had taken her to the hospital to see what could be done. Her system was under too much stress to allow for a flu or whatever she might have caught.

He knocked on the door and heard Tom yell at him to come in.

She was cradled on Yuri's lap, her cheeks too pink and her eyes glassy. She smiled vaguely at him, but she was shivering in Yuri's arms.

"She has a fever," Yuri explained. "She's burning up."

Tom was sitting beside them, with his arm behind Yuri and his other hand on Sara's leg. He wasn't large enough to shelter them both but just stubborn enough to try anyway.

"What's going on?"

Tom shook his head grimly.

"I'm sorry," Sara said, but she was lost in misery and had no energy to explain.

"Her cancer . . ." Yuri said hesitantly, seeing that Lee was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "It's not getting better."

Lee felt like he was being pushed backward down a dark tunnel. "What?" he asked, his own voice echoing in his ears.

"It's getting worse."

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Regarding the brief episode about Zack's childhood: it didn't seem to translate to our culture. I don't remember sick kids getting teased in school, and we sure as hell don't make sick boys wear a dress around here. So I made it into something that I thought a kid here would get teased for and be embarrassed by. I hope it works._

_Regarding Finn and Caleb: I challenged myself to translate vampirism into something less magical. I thought about the criteria: physical intimacy, a specific level of trust, a sense of being "fed" something that is needed to survive. This seemed to fit. It is also something that clearly requires sacrifice on Caleb's side of things—he is __so__ not at the stage where he'd invite Finn into his bed otherwise._

_Gray's poetry, in order:_

"_Sufficient Unto the Day" by Percy Bysshe Shelley_

"_Death in Life" by Shelley_

"_Sonnet 116" by William Shakespeare_

"_One Word Is Too Often Profaned" by Shelley_

"_O You Whom I Often and Silently Come" by Walt Whitman_

_You might not believe this, but I am not actually a rabid Shelley fan girl. His stuff just fit the scene, and you don't get to know the Romantic poets (as Gray did) without knowing Shelley__. I think Whitman fits with Gray's character a lot better, which is why I used him to finish the scene._

_Final note: I don't know if any of you have read the most recent chapters of xxxHOLiC (we're up to 208 now) but I have. And I'm pissed off. Exceedingly, enormously, pissed off. With the characters. With CLAMP. Etc. And I'll just say this— I don't care where that story is going anymore. MY characters are getting their damned happy ending. Come chapter 19, we will officially be boarding Faren's Fanon train and departing Canon Station. I hope this doesn't bother anyone.  
_


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

_May 1__st_

Caleb slung down his duffel bag in front of the sliding door that hid the washer and dryer, resolving to wash his clothes later. Lee, who had been drowsing on the sofa with a textbook open in his lap, was trying to wake himself up.

" 'Lo," he finally grunted, swinging his feet down to the floor and looking muddled. "How were the games?"

"Terrible," Caleb said shortly.

Friday was bad, and Caleb had, uncharacteristically, caved into peer pressure and gone to a teammate's place to try and drown his sorrows. He'd ended up crashing there because he felt unfit to drive. He'd been uneasy about the dumbass sleeping alone on such short notice, but if he found someone to give him a ride home and Finn figured out why he'd done it, the dumbass would just take off to study at the library all night to punish him.

Today's game was, if anything, worse. Tomorrow was their final game of the season, and at this point Caleb just wanted it to end even if UCSD crushed them shamefully. This season had been one disaster after another in his personal life, and there was some kind of subconscious thing in him that hoped it would stop once the season was over.

"Oh, sorry," Lee said. "Didn't you say there would be some scouts there?"

"Yeah, that was actually fine."

Better than fine, honestly, but this was not the appropriate moment to announce that a minor-league scout had spoken to him about next season. That was a topic better left for sometime when his two roommates weren't both on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "How were things last night?"

Lee wasn't stupid, he knew what Caleb meant. He looked down at the floor, and he hunched his shoulders. "Um, well, he tried. He ate dinner with me last night, and he went to bed early. But then he woke up at about one in the morning, and he threw up. He left. He said he was going to the school library to pull an all-nighter. I haven't seen him since."

Great. So he'd just done it, anyway. Caleb took a deep breath and very carefully _didn't_ take out his frustration on Lee. He just checked his watch. "Well, he'll be off work in an hour. You hungry?"

"No."

Caleb turned away from his perusal of the fridge to take a better look at the kid. "Hey, what happened? Is Sara all right?"

Lee still hadn't looked up from the floor. "She had a really bad fever yesterday," he said quietly. "They took her to the hospital."

"Shit," Caleb said, closing the refrigerator door. "Come on, I'll take you down there."

Lee shook his head. "They're doing a bunch of tests right now. Tom said I should get some homework done and rest so Sara won't worry about me."

Caleb decided the situation officially called for a beer, so he opened the fridge again and retrieved two bottles of the Guinness he kept in reserve for bad days. He handed one off to the kid. It underlined how upset Lee must be, since he didn't even make a wry comment on Caleb breaking the law, just accepted the bottle and took a swig. He and Caleb sat at opposite corners of the sofa and stared at the wall in silence.

"She's started pushing me away," Lee spoke up after a while.

"Sara, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"Why?" Caleb already knew the answer, but the kid obviously wanted to talk.

"Because she thinks she's going to die," Lee mumbled, and finished off his beer. For a minute, Caleb thought the kid was going to start crying on him. Caleb was going to end up drinking the whole six-pack, at this rate. But then Lee stood up. "I'm going to go study."

"Sure. Let me know if you change your mind about that ride."

Caleb did, in fact, get another stout and sat in the living room drinking and trying to think of some way to change the shitty situation he found himself in. That scout he'd talked to had told him that despite his team's performance, Caleb himself was standing out. If he could finish this season on a strong note, he wouldn't _want_ to call the guy back because the major leagues would start courting him. Either way, he had his ticket out of here.

And he wasn't going to use it.

He was needed here, and that was that. It was nothing but stupidity to sit here feeling sorry for himself when these were responsibilities he'd chosen for himself. He went to the kitchen to rinse out his bottle and toss it into the recycling bin on the counter.

Keys rattled against the door, and the deadbolt turned. Caleb stayed in the kitchen but turned to observe Finn's entrance. He didn't even look up from the floor, focusing with deliberation on closing the door and turning the lock again, having to juggle an armful of study material and a change of clothes. He looked completely wiped out. His face was pale and drawn tight, and his eyes were dull. He was moving slowly, though he still retained his gracefulness.

He finally looked up when Caleb pulled open the door of the refrigerator to retrieve another Guinness.

"Oh. Hello."

"You look like shit," Caleb said by way of greeting.

"I _did_ try," Finn said primly, dumping his books and clothes onto the table.

"Yeah, well, time to try again," Caleb replied, holding out the bottle.

"You've gone from taking it away to supplying me?" Finn queried dryly, accepting it.

"It's only fair, I've already had a couple. I even gave one to the kid."

"Well, bottoms up, then," Finn sighed. "He told you about Sara?"

"Yeah. Hurry up with that."

"You're finally letting me drink and you won't even give me time to enjoy it?"

"That's right."

"You're not a nice person," Finn said grumpily, chugging down half the bottle in one go. He came up for air and asked, "What's the rush, anyway?"

"You're going to sleep."

Finn gave him a narrow-eyed look around the neck of the bottle as he raised it again.

"What? I'm tired and I want to take a nap. You haven't slept in two days, so you're coming with me."

Finn sighed. "Guess it can't be helped." He downed the other half and took it to the sink to rinse it out. "I can't believe I just wasted a Guinness like that." He stepped away from the sink and stopped with a frown, grabbing onto the counter for a moment. "You are playing havoc with my alcohol tolerance, you know that?"

"That would be the lack of sleep," Caleb said, herding Finn ahead of him into the bedroom. He stripped off his shirt and dropped it on top of his duffel bag as he passed by. Finn was wearing a hoodie that he shrugged out of and carelessly threw onto his own bed. The hoodie was followed by two pairs of shoes. They'd put them away later, but at least the clothes weren't cluttering up their limited floorspace in the meantime. Finn's bed had become a sort of holding space for laundry and school stuff since he rarely slept in it.

Caleb thought about suggesting they just get rid of the bed to make more room, then decided against it. He didn't think Finn would like the implication that their arrangement was so permanent, even if it probably was. Personally, he was trying not to think about it.

Despite Finn's treatment of his shoes and jacket, he hung his work clothes up in the closet. He claimed it was because he was lazy. If he remembered to hang them, he wouldn't have to iron them. He didn't bother looking through the pile of clean laundry for his own clothes. He plucked a pair of Caleb's gym shorts off the top of the pile and pulled them on. They were pathetically too big, but at least he was wearing something.

Caleb hadn't slept very well and really was pretty tired, this wasn't all for Finn's benefit. He threw an arm over his roommate (they had discovered he was less likely to have a nightmare if they started out that way) and shut out his disquieting thoughts. Although the fact that he'd learned to relax so easily when that slender back pressed against his chest was probably the most disquieting thought yet.

* * *

Tom had always been the one who could stay cool in a crisis. He kept it together until the danger was past. Part of the reason he'd become so convinced that Yuri was "the one" was that he'd panicked that day back in high school when Yuri had collapsed and been taken away in an ambulance. Tom hadn't lost it, but he'd sure as hell wanted to. It had convinced him his feelings were real.

Now Yuri was the only person Tom could let his guard down for. He would never show a moment of weakness to the world, not even to his own little sister. But when it was Yuri, Tom could afford to be all of himself instead of only his stoic half.

That explained why Thomas Court, Consummate Big Brother, Keeps-His-Shit-Together Guy, was currently curled up on his bed and crying bitterly. Yuri lay behind him, head propped on one elbow and his hand on Tom's shuddering back.

"It's not fair," Tom said brokenly.

"I know it isn't," Yuri said.

"I just wanted— I've been trying so _hard_."

"I know, love," Yuri said softly, stroking his hand over Tom's back. "I know you have. You've been doing everything you possibly could."

"I should—be able—"

"Stop that," Yuri said, his voice taking on a harsh tone. "This is _not your fault_. I will not let you feel guilty about this."

He should have known that it would happen this way. As soon as they'd gotten the news that Sara could not beat cancer without a bone marrow transfer, Tom had assumed that he would be the one to give it to her. Today he'd been told that it was not to be. He'd acted like everything was fine, but as soon as he'd put the fevered and disheartened Sara to bed, he'd fled into the bedroom and fallen apart.

"But I'm her brother," Tom whispered, his tears beginning to dry up. "I should be a match."

"Being siblings is not a guarantee of compatibility. You knew that before they started the test. I don't understand. Why are you taking this so badly?"

"Because I don't want to call him," Tom whispered, stiffening against Yuri's touch and turning his face into the pillow to avoid having to face him. "I just . . . Don't. But now I have to. I have to save her. His bone marrow might work, so I have to find him."

"I know you better than that. You never cry. Not that I'd blame you for breaking down, but you would never let yourself. What's really going on?"

"He doesn't deserve it, Yuri. He doesn't deserve to be the one to save her."

Yuri sighed and rested his chin on Tom's shoulder. "Don't do this, Tom."

"Do what?"

"Don't make yourself hate him. Don't you remember how it was at first? You were sad for him, but you weren't angry. You wanted him to take some time away and then come back home. You used to want him to be here."

Tom had gone still beneath him.

"The way you're acting toward him . . . It's because you miss him. You need to admit that to yourself. You _do_ want him to come home, and you _do_ want him to be able to help Sara."

"Maybe that's true, but it doesn't change the fact that I. . . he's a bastard who abandoned her. I'm the one who's been here, I should be able to fix her. She shouldn't be sick like this to begin with. She's just a kid. She's such a good kid, but she has to go through all this pain. It's not _fair_!"

He started crying again.

Yuri realized with shock that he'd been wrong: Tom _was_ breaking down. He'd finally had enough. They'd just been told that Sara had only a month left to get a transfer or die, and then been told that Tom himself could do nothing about it. He would do what he had to do; Yuri had no doubt about Tom's ability to pick himself up off the ground and brush off the dust and make that phone call to Egypt. But today, he was exhausted and lost and afraid. Today, he just needed a moment to not be Keeps-His-Shit-Together Guy and to just be Tom who was afraid to watch his baby sister die.

"Yuri— I can't—"

He held Yuri up, too. His strength was easy to lean on, and Yuri had become used to being the one who was curled up in Tom's arms. But seeing Tom this way, much as it broke his heart, made him feel calm and strong. It seemed odd to him, but it worked. Tom needed him, so he was here. Sometimes it just had to be that simple.

"Hush," Yuri murmured, scooting himself down and curling his whole body around Tom and wrapping his arms tight. "It's going to be okay, love. Shh."

He knew they were only words. It might not be okay, and Yuri's embrace was hardly a miracle cure for the whole situation. But it was all he could do, so he did it. At the very least, Tom would know he wasn't alone.

* * *

Lee stood awkwardly in the living room, while Sara leaned against her doorjamb. They were both completely silent and grim-faced, listening to the sound of Tom's harsh sobbing, accompanied by soft murmurs from Yuri.

"Let's go to your place," Sara whispered.

She was dressed in her pajamas, but she didn't bother getting dressed. She looked so thin, and so weary, and her eyes were bright with fever. Lee wanted to offer to carry her, but the distance she was creating between them was not all in his imagination. She shuffled past him and ignored the hand he raised to her by reflex. She was drawing into herself, slowly but surely. She was giving up, Lee realized. He experienced a sense of horror that made a shiver run all the way from his neck to his toes and subside into a clenched feeling in his stomach. Oh no. Oh please, no. She was really giving up.

"You can't."

He realized he was speaking aloud just in time to strangle his words and make them come out as a whimper instead of an exclamation.

"Did you say something?"

_It's only been a few months, there's still a couple of months left, they said to give it six months before they— no no NO!_

"Sara," he said in a wobbly voice as they sat down together on the sofa. Her at one end, hands in her lap, and him at the other with his hands making tight fists at his sides. "Why is Tom crying?"

"The treatment isn't working," she answered in a steady voice.

"What— what does that mean?"

"I need bone marrow. They said we need to find a donor match within the next few weeks and I have to start treatment immediately. If that doesn't happen, it will be too late."

"How do you find one?"

"It's best to use someone related to you," she said, voice still steady and eyes fixed on the lifeless television screen. "But Tom's test came back incompatible. He told me on the way home that he's going to find our dad and get him to come home to get tested. But . . . I don't know if we really have time for that."

"What else can you do?"

"There can be close matches with non-relatives, too. Obviously relatives are the best bet, but we can try other people. Yuri is going to get tested, too, just in case."

"So am I," Lee said immediately.

"Lee . . . you don't have to. It's really unlikely, and it's painful, so . . ."

Lee couldn't stand this. He hated the way she was doing this. It was so awful and unnecessary and hurtful. He scooted himself across the couch and grabbed her twisted-together hands.

"Sara," he muttered, too choked up to articulate.

She pulled her hands away. "Don't," she whispered.

"Don't? Sara, why would you . . .? I _have to_ help you."

"I don't want you to, not this time. I can't have you there all the time."

Lee reeled back, away from her, jumping up from the sofa. He didn't understand. This hurt. This physically hurt, and he didn't understand. But he'd known, hadn't he? He'd known that eventually this would happen.

"I guess I knew you'd figure out that I'm not worth your time."

"No!" she cried out, reaching out her hand to him. "That's not it. I hate this, I didn't want to hurt you. Just try to understand. It's too hard, Lee. It's just too hard for me to have you here. You're so strong, and I'm trying to be, and you're making it so hard to be strong, so just _don't_!"

She got up and ran out of his apartment, closing the door too hard. Lee waited a moment, then got up and opened it again, checking to make sure she got into her own apartment and hadn't collapsed in the hallway. Once he'd shut the door again, he rested his forehead against it and closed his eyes and tried to breathe past the pain. He'd decided long ago that he'd give her whatever she needed. He was getting that test done whether she wanted him to or not, but . . . If what she needed was space . . . He had to give her that, too.

Even if it was tearing him apart.

* * *

They both woke at the same moment, hearing the front door slam shut. Neither of them moved right away, even though laying together awake was a _completely_ different thing than laying together asleep. Caleb thought about taking his arm off Finn and turning over, but then he thought that would be even more conspicuous and awkward than just laying still.

He could tell Finn was awake, because his breathing had changed, but he wasn't moving, either. Finally, Caleb forced his brain into order, almost thinking he heard it creaking in protest. The kid or someone had slammed the door, and that wasn't a good sign. He needed to go see what was happening. Finn didn't even try, these days, so Caleb had somehow turned into the one that the kid talked to.

When he drew his arm back, his fingers brushed accidentally over the surgery scar low on Finn's side, nearly on his hipbone. Finn shivered, and when the muscles jumped under the bare skin of his back, Caleb felt it against his chest. That broke the moment of silence apart and Caleb rolled off the bed with an obvious haste.

"I'm gonna see what's wrong with the kid," he rumbled in a thick, just-woken voice.

Finn didn't respond, except to stretch his arms over his head, make a little whining noise, and relax again. It was Caleb's business what Caleb did, that lazy movement seemed to say. He indicated that he did not want or need Caleb by presenting him with his back and his silence. (A foolish attempt at a lie, since they both knew better.) Caleb let him have his moment of rebellion, opting to retreat without saying anything.

He entered the main rooms and found Lee leaning against the front door. Caleb regarded that suffering posture and wished he could help. He'd stayed out of Lee's business, for the most part, wanting to treat him like an adult with his own life. But Sara had just about moved in here with them, and he'd gotten to see first-hand how the two of them were together. He'd gotten to see how sick Sara really was, even if she tried to stay optimistic and tried to spare them the details. And he'd seen just how badly it was hurting the kid.

Lee was watching the woman he loved die right before his eyes. Caleb wasn't some pathetic bleeding heart and he wasn't given to sentimental bullshit, but it was true. And watching this was like being thirteen years old all over again, seeing the way his dad stayed so strong while his mother was in pain. Feeling utterly useless to do anything for the people he loved. There honestly could not be a worse feeling. Lee turned around and saw him there.

"You want another beer?" Caleb asked dryly.

Lee's eyes flooded with tears, but he didn't cry. He took a careful breath, let it out, and explained the new development. Caleb nodded a couple of times to indicate his understanding. Insanely, it made him feel a little bit happier that Sara needed bone marrow. It meant there was something to _do_.

"We'll get it done, too," he said. "Doesn't hurt anything to make sure."

Lee gaped at him for a second, clearly stunned past the ability to speak. Caleb twitched uncomfortably. What? It made sense, right? They all wanted her to get well. If one of them _was_ a match for her, it would be stupidly tragic to never find that out.

"Thank you," the kid said in a hoarse voice. He retreated then, going into his room, probably to cry where no one could see him. Thank God, if that was the case, because Caleb wasn't exactly good with tears. He always felt the urge to just punch the crying person until they stopped acting like such a whiner. Since Lee had some valid reasons, that was probably not the right way to do it.

Caleb quickly loaded up the laundry, pulling his dirty stuff out of the duffel bag and leaving the gear. He placed the bag in its usual spot by the front door. It made it easy to grab when he left, but it also put a mitt, a bat, and a ball in a convenient location so he could casually talk Lee into going outside and letting off some steam. The kid was surprisingly good, Caleb was coming to find. Next year, he'd push him into getting on his school team. Sara would have to be better by then. Unless—no. He wouldn't think like that.

He walked to the bedroom to get some clothes on, thinking he might let the dumbass keep napping on his bed and he'd go to the library to study for his final exams. It would be a good distraction from his preoccupation with the ending sports season and his own future. But Finn was awake, talking on the phone. That was rare.

"I told you, he's nobody," Finn said harshly.

That tone made Caleb stop and listen in silence. He wasn't some eavesdropping asshole, but he decided to just stand still and let Finn figure out he was there on his own. He'd never heard Finn sound quite like this.

"I just had him in a class once, I doubt he even remembers me. I just needed to fill in a name. No, Arthur. I couldn't have. I'm alone. That's right. I don't even know. Because if I don't know then you don't, either. Why can't you just leave me _alone_? That is such a lie. You don't care about me. If you ever did . . . I can't forgive you. Just please stop calling me. I don't want to talk to you. Just _stop_. _Goodbye_, Arthur."

In frustration, he threw his phone, which burrowed into their pile of clean laundry and disappeared. He let out a deep sigh and rolled over onto his back. He saw Caleb and froze.

"I knew there was a reason you reacted so badly to Lee when he got the hots for King Arthur legends. I figured out it was his name you didn't like."

Finn closed his eyes, seeming to grieve.

"So who is he?"

"Just another demon from my past," Finn said.

He tried not to show his surprise that Finn had even answered. "Is he in any of those nightmares?"

"Sometimes."

It couldn't hurt to press the advantage. "Which ones?"

Finn wasn't that stupid. He rolled off the bed and started picking through the laundry for his own clothes, retrieving his phone in the process. "What do you want, anyway?"

"Nothing. I'm going to go to the library and study for a while. But you need to know what's going on with the kids first, since you're going to be helping them."

* * *

Tom finally gathered himself together so he could go check on Sara. There was a sad sort of humour in that he stopped crying only to find that his sister had started to. She was curled up on her bed, and she was crying those tears that made you wonder if the person even knew they were crying. She was staring at something only she could see, one hand fisted in her sheet and the other fingering her slightly fuzzy head.

"What's wrong?" he asked her, coming in without permission and sitting down beside her. What a stupid question. What _wasn't_ wrong? But it wasn't like Sara to go hide in her room and cry. She had been as in-charge of her treatment as she could.

"I don't know," she whispered.

"You must have some idea," he pressed her, anxious to root out the source of her tears and end them. "Talk to me, monster."

"I had a fight with Lee."

"What?" he growled, struggling to get to his feet, full of vague intentions to go beat the shit out of that kid for daring to fight with a sick little girl.

Sara's hand fell on his arm, pulling him back in.

"It was my fault," she said, her voice scratchy.

"What's going on?" he asked suspiciously, settling back down without actually believing her.

"I told him to stop helping me and that I needed space. I just ended up hurting his feelings."

"Why did you do that?"

"Because he's so good at taking care of me," she said, her voice even more hoarse after she cleared her throat. "It's so easy to lean on him, but it's not fair to him. I need to be strong, too. Don't you see how tired it's making him?"

In all truth, Tom had. But he'd been pretty exhausted himself, so he hadn't given it much thought. He was shamelessly using that kid, because anyone who was so good at taking care of Sara was okay by him. But it was clearly weighing on Sara's conscience. Maybe it should weigh a little harder on Tom's. Well, shit. That kid was a genuine hero, if you got right down to it. He'd lost his parents when he was fourteen, and he'd been taking care of himself ever since. He'd taken care of that brother of his until the kid's mysterious decision to run away. And now he was here, day in and day out, with Sara. Rushing in eagerly to care for her physical needs and to comfort her when she was down, and apparently, so Sara told him, to carry her backpack and elbow through the school hallway to escort her to class. He'd been completely selfless the past few months.

"Is that what has you crying?"

"I guess." She shifted forward, moving her head close to him and indicating that she'd like to be held. Tom was quick to comply, pulling her halfway into his lap. It broke his heart to feel how warm she was to the touch. Her fever hadn't gotten much better since yesterday. "I don't know."

"What is it?" he asked in the most gentle voice he could muster up. He felt weird, still, laying his hand on her hairless head. But he did it, because he wanted her to know that he was here for her. If she tried to tell him to leave her alone like she'd told Lee, he would just ignore her—like he thought Lee was probably going to do.

She was crying harder, now, her tears wetting his arm along with her sweat-dampened bangs. "I just don't feel good, Tom. I feel sick. I _am_ sick. I'm so hot, and so tired."

He cradled her head closer and fought off a second round of his own tears. "I'm sorry, Sara. I'm sorry I can't help you."

"You do," she whispered. "You've done so much. Thank you. You've been great."

"Sara, don't talk like that. Don't talk like it's over, because it's not."

"I know. I'm having a bad day, I'm sorry. I need to go apologize to Lee."

"Not right now, you don't. Right now, you've—oh, shit."

"What?" she asked dully, lifting her head when she realized Tom was swiping at his arm. "Oh, no. I'm so sorry." She tried to help him wipe up the crimson stain on his arm, but more blood was still dripping from her nose. "Let me get a towel . . ."

Tom lifted her up in his arms. "It's okay, monster. I've got you." He carried her into the bathroom, set her down on the counter and had her tilt her head back. Yuri came in and handed him tissues. He also had retrieved one of Sara's pills and a glass of water. "Thanks, love," he said, dropping a brief kiss on him.

"I'm sorry," Sara said, feebly fighting tears.

"You don't need to be sorry," Tom said, turning her so she could lean her head against his shoulder and be supported while he cleaned her up.

"I'm bleeding on you."

"It's nothing."

He found his own body pulled back to lean against Yuri. Yuri obviously didn't mind getting blood on him, either. With what he was putting up with today, with what he always put up with, he deserved a lot more than a word of thanks and a quick kiss. When this was all over, Tom promised himself, Yuri was getting a week in Spain. He did not promise himself they'd ever make it out of the hotel room.

* * *

_May 12__th_

When Ian came home from work, he found Gray laying in his room in the dark, whispering poetry. He did not think that was a good sign.

"Can I come in?" he asked, peeping in through the partially opened door.

It seemed to take Gray a moment to understand, but he finally said, "Yeah." He sat up as Ian came in. "What's up?"

"I'm not sure," Ian said. "That's where you come in. I'm a little worried about you."

Gray made a face at him. "I guess I'm giving you reason to be worried. Sorry."

There were days where it seemed like all this guy did was apologize for something. Ian hated hearing him saying sorry about stuff like this; there was that note in Gray's voice that said he was mostly just sorry for existing.

"You don't need to apologize. I just want to know what's going on. You've been spending a lot of time in here by yourself lately, and I'm starting to hear a lot of poetry." He thought about the poetry he'd heard that night Gray had slept in here, and shrugged. "I don't mind when it's directed at me, because you know some good stuff—but I really don't think whatever you're doing in here is all that healthy."

Gray shrugged. "I don't know if it is, either. But it kinda helps."

"Helps with _what_, Gray Eyes?" Ian asked with fond exasperation.

"I just . . . I don't know. The poetry sort of shuts me down. Makes me feel kind of numb. It's not like when I'm sharing it with you. It's more like I felt when I was supposed to quote it for— for clients."

"Okay, now I _know_ it ain't healthy." Ian gripped his shoulder, hard. "I need to know what's going on in that head of yours, or I'm going to get more than just worried. Why would you wanna make yourself feel that way? That's not a good way to feel."

Gray shrugged, shrugging off Ian's touch. "I just need it to calm down."

"Okay, that's part of an answer. What's making you feel upset to begin with? Why do you need to calm down?"

"I don't _know_," he growled. "There's too many different things that I . . ." He jumped up off the bed and stood there glaring at Ian with his hands clenched into fists. "My head doesn't make any sense to me, so how am I supposed to explain it to you? I did what you wanted, I got myself cleaned up and got a job and everything, and you should have just left me alone!"

Ian gaped at him. "You mean . . . you liked it, back then? Where you were before?" He told himself not to get angry. This kid had been lost since the day he was born, and if his old life seemed more "right" to him then it wasn't really his fault.

"No!" Gray fumed, pacing the room like a caged animal. "I told you, I don't know! I have to do these certain things, to be a real person or something, and I don't know _how_ to do anything. I live in this tiny little bubble world—it's just you, and the bakery, and the studio. And Brian and Arashi look after me just as much as you do. I know that's not what it's really like out there, and I want to find out but I—"

He stopped, chest heaving, raising one hand to grip painfully in his hair.

"I'm so scared, Ian," he choked out. His eyes flooded with tears.

Ian was off the bed and at his side in an instant, throwing his arms around him and squeezing so hard he heard Gray's spine pop.

"It's like I said, my mind doesn't make any sense to me," he said in a trembling voice. "I think such dark things, and there are so many things in my head. If I could just get them _out_ then maybe the world wouldn't scare me so much. But it does. I have to fix that, I know I do."

Ian guided them back to the bed, keeping Gray in his arms and not saying anything. Things that had been festering for three years were finally coming out, and he hoped it was a good thing.

"I have to get out more, you know. I need to _do_ things. I should think about a real job, one that's a career, because that's what I'm supposed to start thinking about at my age. I need to experience more, I need to go places. And I should talk to people. I mean, people besides you and Brian and Arashi. You know that I figured out how to use the self-checkout at the grocery store because I'm afraid to talk to the clerks? I'm just scared. I've never been anywhere, never had to do anything. Do you know how scared I was when I took the bus to California? There were all those people! I couldn't even . . . It was the worst thing I've ever had to do. I spent the whole trip huddled up in a corner and I heard everyone say that I must be a drug addict or something. It's not fair to say that, because I work so hard not to be."

He was weeping into Ian's shoulder at this point. Ian was amazed to hear everything come pouring out of him like this. Gray never talked this much all at once. He was trying to focus on what Gray was saying, but he was secretly experiencing a thrill that he was talking at all.

"I don't want to be scared to just do normal things. At least I think they're normal. I'm just so fucked up that I don't know how to judge if something is normal or not. But I feel like I should go to college or something, or go to a party, or have friends. I just stay in here and read and let you do all the talking. I need to do things. I need to become a real person."

"Hey," Ian said, feeling unable to let that one go. "You _are_ a real person. I don't care how fucked up you are, and I don't care what normal is or isn't supposed to be. You're Gray, and that's good enough. If you want to change, then that's up to you. But don't do it because you think you have to. Do it because you want to."

"I _do_ want to. I don't want to spend the rest of my life holed up in this apartment. It makes me feel like I'm all ever going to be is some damaged pet. Just crouching in the dark and licking my wounds or something. I just don't know what I want to do instead. If I was more normal, I'd know that."

"Oh my god," Ian sighed. He cradled Gray against him. "No, you wouldn't."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're eighteen, Gray Eyes. Fuck. I should have realized . . . I am such a failure. I've been letting you freak yourself out like this, when I should have been talking to you."

"You're not a failure," Gray protested, trying to sit up. Ian knew better than to try to hold him down and restrict him, so he just put his hand on Gray's knee and hoped it would calm him down.

"Thank you for that. But I should have known what you're going through, because I went through it myself. Everybody does. All these feelings you have right now—all this fear and anxiety, the insecurity about being normal and about making the right decisions—that _is_ normal, Gray Eyes. _You_ are normal. You're eighteen. You're becoming an adult. It's confusing, and it's scary as hell. Society's a big place, finding out where you belong . . . It takes some people years to figure that out. Look at me! I'm on the wrong side of my twenties, and I _still_ don't know what I'm doing."

"It's . . . it's really not weird? I'm not?" Gray asked uncertainly.

"Oh, no, you're plenty weird," Ian drawled. "But I don't mind, much. Just rest assured that it's perfectly normal to be confused about what you really want. Me, I didn't start figuring that out until I met you."

Gray was quiet. Ian didn't know if he believed him, or if he was just taking some time to think it over. Either way, he was comfortable just sitting here beside him, so he didn't move. Gray needed to have these moments. Where someone was touching him, even if it wasn't much, and it was a good thing instead of a bad one. Where someone was listening to what he had to say and wasn't judging him or pitying him.

After a while, Gray stirred slightly. Ian had been on the verge of falling asleep sitting up, and he let out a little questioning grunt.

"Do you think I'm crazy?" Gray whispered.

Ian felt a clenching in his belly, because he didn't really know.

"Oh, god, you do."

"No, I don't," Ian found his voice. "You're not crazy. You've been through some wild stuff, and it's messed you up, but I don't think you're crazy at all. I don't think it would be a bad thing for you to get some help, though. I'm not exactly a trained professional, you know. I can sit here with you and let you talk, but I'm no good at offering advice. You shouldn't have to be afraid of talking to people at the grocery store and getting on a bus. I think there is someone who could help you with that, if you want that. Oh. Is that why you resisted therapy so much, before? Because you were scared?"

"Yeah," Gray said, slightly hoarse. "Scared to talk to anybody that wasn't you, and scared to find out that I was beyond help."

"You're definitely not that," Ian assured him. "Maybe we can ask my sister's friend about that. You and her seemed to get along pretty well."

"Claire's on the other side of the country," Gray reminded him.

"Oh, I know. But she might know of a couple of people. We can ask her when we go visit."

"When are we going to visit?"

"In a couple of days," Ian said casually.

"What?" Gray sprang upright.

"I've got some news. I was going to tell you, but I want to tell Dovie and that man of hers, so I thought you and I could go out there and I'd tell everybody at the same time."

Gray frowned at him. "What kind of news?"

"It's good news. Don't worry about it. Besides, I think a couple of days away from everything might do you a world of good. You could use a vacation. Maybe you could experience some new things, too."

"Yeah, maybe. What news?"

"I'm gonna call Pigeon and tell her we're coming," he announced, getting up. "She'll appreciate having some warning this time, don't you think?"

"Ian! _What news?"_

* * *

_May 14__th_

Today had been the last day of classes for the university, but nobody was really celebrating. Lee understood. School let out for him in a couple of weeks, and he could barely muster up the energy to care. It had been the worst spring semester in the history of humanity, and for some reason the universe had decided to concentrate everything it had on two neighboring apartments in San Francisco. Caleb had expressed nothing but relief when he came home from his final, disastrous game. He'd been doing nothing but studying or taking a nap with Finn for the last two weeks. Assuming Finn was home, not at work or at the library, which wasn't very often. Caleb would just drag him into bed whenever he got home.

Why they were taking their naps together when they gave every indication that they hated each other . . . that was a question Lee hadn't found the courage to ask, yet. Their relationship was obviously complicated, or they'd have already just had sex and gotten it over with and eased some of the tension. Lee was sort of hoping he could talk them into taking a vacation or something after their exams. If things with Sara . . .

Lee hadn't given up, not yet. But if he found out that Sara was going to die this summer, he'd rather have the apartment to himself for a week or two. If the guys couldn't be convinced to go away just to work out their issues, maybe they'd go if he told them he needed some space. But he wouldn't feel right about bringing that up or saying something like that. Damn.

Finn was sort of perched with his feet tucked under him on the sofa, and he seemed to feel eyes on him. He looked up and found Lee standing in the kitchen vacantly staring at him.

"Something wrong?"

"You mean more than usual?" Lee said bitterly, immediately regretting the words but unable to call them back.

"Heh. Yeah, never mind," Finn said, grimacing as he recalled all of Lee's problems.

And while he was thinking about his problems and the approach of summer . . . It was just about time to go looking for his brother. He'd given him this semester to figure things out, but he was done waiting. He wanted to know why Ril left, and he wanted to know why he hadn't called. Since he hadn't made any effort to at least tell Lee where he was, then Lee didn't anticipate their conversation going very well. That would be an appropriate cap to the Semester From Hell.

Then his phone rang. He looked. Unknown number.

"Man, if this is Ril . . ." he mumbled as he picked up the call. "Hello? Yeah, speaking. Oh, um, yes. Hello. Oh. Okay. Yes, please. Yes. Oh. Oh my god. Oh my god. Yes. _Yes_. Thank God. You have no idea . . . Well, no, I guess you have an idea. But thank you. Thank you so much. Yes. I know. As soon as possible. School is not an issue. I'll be there whenever you say. The 18th? Yes. Yes, I'll be there. Absolutely. Okay. Okay. Yeah, I'll remember. I know. So no school for a couple of days, then? No, that's fine. Yes. Thank you. Thank you so much. I just . . . Thank you."

Lee was babbling in near-hysteria by the time he hung up the phone, so much so that Finn had stopped pretending he wasn't listening and was staring at him.

"That was someone from the hospital," he said in a wobbling voice. He felt his face break into a beaming smile, and he honestly couldn't breathe for a minute. "I'm a match."

"What?"

"I'm a match for Sara, Finn. I can give her my bone marrow."

The tight feeling in his chest let loose as Lee suddenly burst into tears. He hadn't even known he needed to cry, but he covered his face with his hands and wept in relief.

"I'm going— to do the donation— on Tuesday. She'll go in for the transfer a couple of days after that. It's . . . oh my god, I'm a _match_."

"That's wonderful, Lee," Finn said sincerely, smiling at him. "I'm so glad. You deserve this."

"I have to go tell Sara," he said, still feeling short of breath but swiping at the tears on his cheeks to get rid of them. "I _really_ wish I didn't have to work tonight. I have to leave in an hour. Maybe I should wait . . ."

"The hospital will call her, too," Finn said logically. "You might as well run over there before work."

"Yeah, you're right."

Lee headed for the door, but he felt sad suddenly. A few months ago, Finn would have been acting like a kid at Christmas. He would have been suggesting that Lee skip work and that they go celebrate. He would have been hugging him and grinning ear to ear. Now he was so _dead_. Lee turned back, walked right up to Finn and looked him in the eyes.

"I know you're right here and all, but . . . I miss you, Finn."

He didn't know if that would change anything, but he needed Finn to know that he _shouldn't_ have died back in March, whatever he might think. He kept acting like he'd have been better off dead, but that just wasn't true. He wished he could do more for Finn, but they weren't exactly close, these days.

And right now, there was someone else who needed him. He let go of thoughts of Finn for the moment, and flew down the hall and burst into his neighbours' apartment without knocking first.

He took in the scene he was confronted with. Sara had obviously just had another bloody nose, since she was laying in Yuri's lap, on the sofa, looking pale with a red-spotted tissue in her hand. She was wearing the pinched expression that meant she was aching pretty badly. Tom was pacing the tiny amount of floorspace available, on the phone with someone and looking very angry.

"Maybe you don't speak English. I don't care _what_ he said. I _know_ he's allowed to take a sabbatical. All I'm saying is, you _must_ have a forwarding address or phone number for him. I don't think you're taking this very seriously. I have to find Professor Court _right now_. Who am I? Are you fucking kidding me? How many different people do I have to talk to? I'm his fucking son, genius. And my sister is sick. That's right, you son of a bitch, Professor Court's daughter is sick. Are you going to give me his phone number, or do you need me to get on a plane to Egypt and find him myself? Oh, I will. My first stop will be your office. Oh my god, of course I'm not threatening you, no, please, don't hang up, don't hang up, I'm sorry okay, I'm fucking sorry— SHIT! He hung up!" Tom shouted, turning around at last to find Yuri and Sara both staring at Lee, who was standing in the doorway giggling hysterically. "Oh, for God's sake, he's finally lost his mind," Tom grunted, coming around the sofa and muttering "it was only a matter of time" and pulling Lee all the way inside so he could shut the door. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Sorry. You're funny when you're mad."

"This is _not_ a funny situation, you little—"

"The hospital just called me," Lee blurted out, dodging Tom's threatening step toward him.

"The hospital called you for what?"

"To schedule my appointment."

"Oh. You're getting tested?"

Lee grinned and shook his head. "I got tested already. I didn't tell you guys. I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up."

"So what's the appointment for?" Yuri asked, his calm voice in almost hilarious contrast to Tom's growling annoyance.

Lee's grin widened even further. "To extract the bone marrow."

"To what, now?" Tom repeated.

Lee went to his knees and grabbed Sara's hands in his, bloody tissue and all. "I'm a match for you, Sara. I can do it. I can save you." He choked on the last few words, and bowed his head over her hands to hide the return of his tears. "I can save you," he repeated.

Sara pulled one of her hands out of his grip, but only so she could run it tenderly over his hair.

"I always hoped you would," she whispered.

Tom sat down heavily. "Well. I guess, if it couldn't be me . . . I guess it just makes sense that it's you."

* * *

_**A/N:** Thank you once again, lovelies, for your wonderful reviews. You are what make all of this work with it!_

_On an only minorly-related note, I have been inspired by a reader to compile my list of songs that I associate with these characters (either in canon or in my world). I will make a post with the first few on my Livejournal, and you are all welcome to comment and add your suggestions! My Livejournal can be found at_: faren-maddox (dot) livejournal (dot) com


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

_May 17th_

Averil had gotten used to the sounds of children shrieking while they played in the yard outside the school. He was disconcerted when he heard a completely adult voice shouting along with them, one that clearly wasn't Oscar. He went to Karen where she sat on the wall—she waited there for _him_ now, rather than her mother—but he didn't exchange hugs with her until he found the source of the voice. A teenager was playing soccer with the boys, his golden hair flashing in the sun as he ran.

"Hey, you," he finally said, smiling down at Karen. "Who's that?"

She looked over and shrugged. "That's Gray."

"Does he work here now?"

"He came with Miss Dovie." She frowned in concentration, trying to make sure she got the story right. "Miss Dovie has a brother named Ian. And Gray is Ian's friend. They came to visit Miss Dovie, and Miss Dovie said Gray would have fun playing with us. I've met Mister Ian before. He's big and scary."

"Oh, yeah," Averil said with recognition. "I remember him. He was here that day you and I met, remember?"

"Yeah!"

"So what about this guy, is he scary?"

The golden-headed teenager was tackled by Thomas and Luke and they went down in a heap of shrieks and laughing.

"Maybe not so much," Averil answered his own question.

"He doesn't like to talk, but the boys like playing with him," Karen shrugged. "He didn't know how to play soccer, but Oscar showed him. I think he likes it."

"You ready to go home?" Averil asked, holding out his hand to take hers and lead her across the street. He walked her home most days. It made him half an hour later to work, but Yvonne just cheerfully held onto him for an extra half hour at night.

"Grandma's picking me up today," Karen said softly.

"Why's that?" he frowned, not liking her sudden change in tone.

"We're going to see Mother."

"You . . . What?"

Karen's mother had declared herself unstable and begged for help. She'd spent a few weeks in a clinic, but she was home now. She was seeing a therapist to develop stress and anger management skills and to work on her control issues. It had been due to having a great lawyer that she hadn't been thrown in prison, but even Averil had agreed that Sandra wasn't much of a criminal.

"It's okay," Karen said reassuringly. "She says I should stay with Grandma right now, but she wants me to come over so she can tell me she's sorry and how much she loves me."

"How do you feel about that?" Averil asked, sitting down on the wall and patting the space next to him. She sat beside him and let him put an arm around her.

"I think it's good," Karen said. "I miss her a lot, and I was really happy that she wanted someone to help her. We can't be together yet, but she's better because the court said I could see her as long as Grandma is there. That's good, right?"

Averil's first instinct was to say it was _not_ good, and he didn't want Karen within a mile of Sandra. But he couldn't say that to the bright, hopeful little girl beside him. This was her mother they were talking about. And it _did_ sound like Sandra was sincere, and was working on her issues.

"Yeah, Karen, that's wonderful," he made himself say.

A beat-up old Honda pulled up. "Hello, my dear! Hello, Averil!" Ruth said, waving cheerfully from the driver's seat.

"Hi!" Averil responded. He walked around to the driver's side while Karen was getting in the car. "Are you sure about this?" he asked nervously.

Ruth was all smiles. "I am."

Ruth had welcomed Averil's presence in her granddaughter's life without a qualm, and he had learned to trust her very quickly. He knew she wouldn't do anything that would be harmful to Karen, so he nodded. "Okay. Good luck. See you tomorrow."

"Thank you, dear," she said.

"Bye, April!" Karen called cheerfully.

"Bye, May," he smiled at her, then stepped back onto the sidewalk to get out of the car's path.

Good, he thought, looking across the street at his workplace. Now he had some time to work on cataloguing the store's inventory before he started making dinner. He was nearly finished with it. He'd been noting every item he dusted as he worked his way around the store, and the process of arranging it more efficiently was going quickly. He would be done by the end of the month, if not sooner.

The noise from the yard had stopped, and he turned back to see that the boys had taken the ball inside to put it away, while the young man named Gray was still in the yard. He had his hands in his pockets, his expression was slightly wistful, and it seemed clear that his brain was a million miles from here. Averil was uncertain if it would be ruder to interrupt his musings or to leave without a courteous farewell. He hovered indecisively for a moment.

The etiquette issue was solved for him.

"She's a cute kid."

Averil was startled to hear him speak. He hadn't been positive whether or not the other guy had even noticed him.

"Yeah, she is," he said.

"Did she call you _April_?"

"Uh, yeah," he said, blushing. "It's just . . . My name is Averil. It means April. I was born on the first of April, and I guess my parents thought it was funny or something. She's just a kid, so I let her get away with it."

Gray shrugged, obviously not that concerned about it. "I wasn't trying to eavesdrop on your conversation or anything. I just heard you talking about Ian." He smirked a little. "It _figures_ that he terrifies little kids."

"He seemed kind of intimidating. I guess the kids get along with you, though."

A surprised look crossed Gray's face. "Yeah. That's weird. Dee just dragged me here today, because Ian told her— well, anyway, I didn't actually expect to have _fun_. I've never really been around any kids before."

Averil smirked at that, because he felt the same way. "Me, either. I just made friends with Karen because she seemed really lonely. It's easier than I would have expected."

"I think I like kids," Gray said agreeably, sauntering forward with his hands still in his pockets. "They don't ask stupid questions. They ask really _uncomfortable_ questions, but not stupid ones."

"Yeah? Like what?"

Gray's face took on a defiant expression, with a hardening around his jaw and a lift to his eyebrows that invited Averil to bring it on. "Like why Ian kissed me when he dropped me and Dee off."

"O—oh. What'd you tell them?" Averil asked curiously, while his mind was reeling with a lot of other thoughts (_This kid looks like he's about to beat the crap out of me_ and _I can't believe that Ian guy is gay_ being prominent).

"I said it's because he loves me. And that's why I think I like kids. They just said okay and asked me if I would do flashcards with them because Oscar does them too fast."

"Kids are pretty cool, I'm figuring that out," Averil said. He had no idea what was going on here, he didn't even _know_ this guy, but he didn't want to be rude and it seemed like maybe this was important to Gray for some reason. "They sort of take people as they are."

"Kind of wish adults could be more like that," Gray muttered.

"Yeah," Averil agreed uncomfortably.

Gray suddenly smiled, almost ferally. "You're probably thinking I'm really weird, right?"

"Not— not exactly. I don't really know you yet. I'm just not sure why you're talking about this with someone you don't even know." Okay, yeah, he _was_ thinking this guy was really weird, but he wasn't just going to _say_ that. Gray had seemed so happy with the kids, and now he was sort of hard and cold, and Averil thought he must be going through a hard time or something. He didn't want to make it worse. And he didn't want the set the guy off, either. He looked twitchy.

"Honestly, I don't know. It's just been a weird day. I tried something new, coming here to play with the kids, and that worked out. So now I'm trying something else new, and talking to someone my own age."

"That's new?'

"Yeah."

"How do you go to school without talking to anyone?"

"I, uh, I didn't go to school. I guess you could say I was home schooled. I just read a lot when I was a kid, and then Ian tutored me for a few years once I started living with him. God, if he'd forced me to enroll in high school . . ." Gray shuddered.

"There's been days I wish I was home schooled," Averil admitted. "The things most teenagers are worried about seem really stupid to me. It's kind of hard to have a conversation." He braced himself. This other guy really needed _something_, even if Averil couldn't figure out what it was. He would just have to try to be honest. "I can't really talk to any of them about what it's like to be homeless or to get a head injury and forget a huge chunk of my past."

Gray, to his credit, did not seem the least bit surprised. In fact, after a moment, he put on a sort of challenging smile. "Yeah. You can't really walk into a classroom and ask if anyone else in there knows what it's like to be a drug addict. Former addict," Gray added hastily.

Averil didn't know where to go from there, but he made a valiant effort. "So, uh, Ian must be pretty cool, then. If that doesn't bother him."

Gray thought about his response. "It's kind of hard to describe Ian. He's the one who got me out of that life. He gave me a place to live and helped me get on my feet. It makes me feel kind of guilty. Because he's always there for me, and he never asks for anything in return."

Averil found his eyes wandering toward the house he lived in. "Yeah," he said, feeling a strange, faint, buzzing sensation. "I know a guy like that."

Gray smiled, tentatively, inviting a camaraderie that scared the crap out of Averil. Because he didn't _want_ to think they were in the same situation. "I've kind of decided I can live with the guilt. I'd have to be crazy to walk away from that kind of support."

"It doesn't make you feel, I don't know— sort of needy?"

Averil really hadn't meant to say that out loud. He didn't want to know the answer, he really didn't want to hear how other people dealt with this kind of thing because he didn't want to deal with it himself. They could stay in limbo indefinitely, that sounded great,—oh crap this guy was going to answer—

"Sometimes. But I've started figuring something out."

"Yeah?"

"It's not a bad thing, to need help. Everybody needs it sometimes, not just me. You can't always do everything by yourself. Sometimes you need someone to push you, or maybe just to stand with you. That's okay. So much the better if you find someone like I did. You know, someone who's patient and strong and who maybe doesn't say much but it's because their actions speak louder than words. Someone who's there because they love you. It's okay to need someone like that."

Averil honestly thought he might need his asthma inhaler. Every word this kid spoke was making his chest squeeze tighter and tighter. He couldn't _hear this_.

"I'm not saying it's easy or anything. Ian and I still have a lot to figure out. I mean, I was surprised as hell that he kissed me this morning, even if it was just my cheek. But I'm finally coming to terms with the idea that I'll always need him, and maybe that's— it might be normal."

"Yeah, I see what you mean," Averil gasped, and found that his feet were moving. He was slowly backing away from Gray. "But I don't think it's the same for everyone."

"Hey, are you okay?"

"I actually really need to get to work. It was nice to meet you. Don't judge all teenagers by me, by the way, you should probably talk to someone who's not a crazy suicidal amnesiac. See you."

As he hurried away, cowardice warring with pride and keeping him at a fast walk instead of a sprint, Gray called out,

"Whoever he is, you ought to give him a chance! God knows he probably deserves it!"

Oh, god, why couldn't that guy just _shut up_?

* * *

Averil hadn't been able to get the conversation out of his mind all night. He went through his normal routine at work. He laughed at Mike's craziness and hollered at Yvonne when she got too obnoxious, but the conversation with Gray wouldn't leave him. It was coupling up with the conversation he'd had with Yvonne a while back, and creating a train of thought that was leading him to a place he didn't really want to go.

It was leading him to think that his objections didn't matter. That he really _ought _to give him a chance, because God knew he _did_ deserve it. He'd been so desperate to hold him at arm's length and now he was desperate to defend his reasons for doing so. He just was having a hard time knowing what they were, anymore.

The worst part was . . . there was someone he wanted to talk to about all this. He knew there was someone. He wasn't sure who, but there was a person hovering in the back of his brain who would be his listening ear and who would support him no matter what. The need to talk to this person had become greater and greater ever since that Maiko Porter person had called him, but he was utterly _refusing_ to link that phone call with this desire. He wouldn't put a name to that person. He _couldn't_. It _hurt_. His head was aching nearly all the time, in the past couple of weeks. He was actually starting to get used to the spots in his vision and the tightening in his chest.

"Averil. Averil. Averil!"

"Huh?"

"It's late. Go home."

He nodded to Yvonne and said he'd be back tomorrow. He didn't think he'd said a word to her in the past hour.

He hardly spoke when he came home and they had dinner. He listened to Harold chatter pleasantly, and Zack respond in his quiet way. As usual, Zack cleaned his plate and held it out to Averil expectantly for more. But Averil didn't have to heart to yell at him about his manners or declare that he wasn't a servant. Because he was suddenly struck with the gut-twisting idea that Zack did this so Averil could keep the barriers up, because it made Averil happy to do so.

He supposed that in some ways, it didn't matter what Zack's intentions were or what he really wanted from Averil. No matter what the answer was, the fact remained that Averil was hurting him. On purpose. Just to assuage his own panic over being indecisive. If nothing else, he should be nicer. He'd been so determined to see Zack as just this obnoxious guy who was sarcastic and overly blunt and irritatingly stoic . . . but that wasn't an excuse to keep hurting him. Maybe he couldn't face the idea of _needing_ him, but he thought maybe, just maybe, he could work on not being a jerk.

"You look upset," Harold observed, when he joined him in washing the dishes.

"Just thinking about something."

"Yeah? Have anything to do with that kid I saw you talking to over at the school?"

"Sort of," Averil mumbled. "He was kind of interesting. He was there to play with the kids just because he was curious about what kids were like. He had a good time. I guess he's gay or something, and the kids didn't bother him about it."

"You were talking for a while."

"Yeah. It seemed like we had a lot in common."

"You about to tell me you're gay? Cause I've had my suspicions—"

"I'm not gay!" Averil yelped. "I like _Sunny_, remember?"

"So you've said. But I'm curious, so humour me. What is it you like about her so much?"

Averil turned from the sink to start rapturously describing everything about her. But he found the words sticking in his throat. He'd spent all afternoon and evening thinking about things that were deep and unsettling, and it was weird that Sunny was none of those.

"She's kind, and sweet. She's smart. And she's—she's got legs that go on for days, you know? She's so cute."

Harold laughed at that, and clapped him on the back. "Legs like those are hard to come by. All right, I guess you've got your reasons."

But he looked disappointed, Averil thought as he walked out. He wasn't sure why. Okay, so great legs were not really enough to build a relationship on, but come on! Having sixteen-year-old hormones had to count for something!

He heard Harold say something to Zack, and he realized with horror that Zack was right in the other room and might have heard him talking about Sunny's legs. What if he _told_ her or something? He was just enough of a jerk sometimes that Averil thought this was a legitimate worry.

That wasn't the worry that kept him awake staring at the ceiling most of the night, his asthma inhaler clutched in one hand. No, he had bigger concerns than being embarrassed in front of Sunny.

* * *

_May 18__th_

Caleb had erased his work and started over so many times that his pencil suddenly tore a hole in the page. He looked at it for a moment, then growled and crumpled up the whole page and threw it across the room. It landed in the wastebasket without problems.

"Impressive," Matt said lazily. "But then, I'd expect nothing less from you."

Caleb just gave him a narrow look. Any more from this guy—he'd been trying to pry out of him whether or not he was going to play baseball professionally next year—and Caleb would put his lights out. No matter that he'd promised Tanya he'd never fight again, and no matter that he'd kept that promise for two years. No, this guy just about had it coming to him. Well, him or their math textbook. Caleb was leaning toward the book being the worse offender of the two.

"I seriously can't study anymore. I think I've gone cross-eyed," Matt mumbled, dropping his head onto his own book with a soft _thunk_. "What time is it?"

"Noon."

"Thank God." Matt started packing up his stuff.

"Why? What happens at noon?"

"I'm getting lunch with Alex over at the student center. Which means I obviously can't be studying for finals. God, I can't wait until exams are over."

"Tell me about it," Caleb muttered, glaring down at his stuff and thinking Matt had the right idea. Maybe he'd take a break, too. He couldn't focus on his damn final when he was worried about the kid. Lee was at the hospital getting his bone marrow withdrawn today.

"Come on, come with me. So long as you don't mind him trying to talk you into going to law school again."

"He's still on that?"

"Yeah," Matt grumped. "I think he's giving up on you, though. Now he's started bugging _me_ about it. He's going to drive me crazy."

"Next time he brings it up, clock him," Caleb suggested, getting up and following Matt out of the library.

Matt laughed. "Yeah, sure. I'm not really the violent type."

"Well, don't expect me to do it for you," Caleb muttered. He might as well go with Matt. That friend of his wasn't going to have any more luck convincing Caleb to be a lawyer than Susan had. "Hey, can we swing by the science building?"

"Yeah, sure. Your roommate?"

"I _know_ that dumbass isn't going to eat unless I make him, and he's not even coming home before work. I might as well drag him along."

As luck would have it, Finn was just leaving the building, probably headed for the library himself. Even in the shadows of the old trees that surrounded the building, it was hard to miss that fly-away blond hair as he trudged down the path. He didn't even look up until they were right on top of him. When Caleb reached out to grab Finn's arm and keep him from walking right past them, he was abruptly spun around and had his arm twisted up behind his back. His shoulder creaked with the effort of remaining in its socket.

"What are you doing?" he grunted.

"Ah, sorry," Finn said, letting him go. "I wasn't paying attention. What are you doing here?"

"Finding you. Come on. We're taking a lunch break."

Finn made an exasperated, don't-you-ever-let-up? face, but he obediently fell into step with them. He'd learned to stop arguing with Caleb about these things. He always lost. Because he was always _wrong_.

"Hi, Matt," he said, pretending to be cheerful. "Long time, no see."

"Yeah," Matt said, looking sort of shocked. Caleb figured Matt hadn't seen Finn since they'd stopped looking for Averil, which had been before the shooting. He'd mentioned Finn was a dumbass who didn't eat or sleep, but he wasn't about to jabber all day about the weight he'd lost or the shadows under his eyes. "So, uh, I guess you'll be glad when the semester's over, huh? Chance to relax?"

"Well, I'll be glad," Finn agreed. "But I won't have much time to relax. I need to make a decision about where to get my Ph.D from."

"I didn't know you were going for a doctorate." Neither had Caleb. Well, _shit_. Did that mean . . . "You've already finished your thesis?"

"Yep," Finn confirmed, letting the 'p' make an obvious popping noise. Of _course_ he hadn't said a word about it to Caleb, that just fucking figured. "I was thinking about taking a year off school, but our lease on the apartment is up in August. Since I'm moving anyway, I might as well be moving to my doctoral school. I have a couple of possibilities open, but I have to make a decision pretty soon."

Damn it all to hell, he should have known. He should have _known_. He knew that Finn had been in the process of writing his thesis, he should have realized what that meant. He should have expected that Finn wouldn't say a word about leaving. This was Finn. He wouldn't have said anything even if he _had_ already decided on a school. Caleb would have come home some day in August to find that Finn and all of his stuff was gone.

It was going to kill him. Caleb had no doubt about that. Finn would leave, think he could deal with his problems on his own, and it would kill him. Finn would die. If nothing else, he'd get so exhausted he'd accidentally walk into traffic or something.

Something cold and dangerous, like a snake, began to twine its way through Caleb's center. He knew what he had to do, but he really wasn't ready to think about it. And he really wasn't looking forward to the day he had to explain himself to Tanya. He'd hardly spoken to her the past couple of years, and suddenly he'd have to explain just who the hell this guy was and why Caleb was moving.

The three of them made their way to the student center, and Caleb wondered how Matt planned to find his friend in the noisy, crowded building. Personally, he tended to avoid going there if he could help it. But the bespectacled grad student was standing outside the main entrance, smoking and casually watching passersby. He'd cut off his hair, looked like. Maybe they'd threatened to withhold his degree or something.

"What's with the entourage?" he said to Matt, dropping his cigarette and grinding it beneath his shoe and making Caleb want to shove the thing down his throat. Then he picked up the butt and threw it in the trash bin, and Caleb was mollified.

"Everybody's gotta eat," Matt shrugged. "Caleb and I were trying to cram and we ran out of patience. Nice of you to wait for me. You're so _sweet_."

Alex glared at him. "Don't make me hurt you, Decker. I'm not waiting for you. I'm waiting for my brother-in-law."

"Huh? Ian's coming?"

"He's just swinging by for a minute. Apparently Dovie accidentally took my term paper to work with her this morning. He said he'd bring it."

Caleb thought back to before the world had taken a gigantic dump on him, and remembered. "That's the guy who just showed up here a few months ago without telling you he was coming, right?"

"The one who tries to make everybody think he's really bad ass? Yeah, that's him."

"Ah, be fair, he is a _little_ bit bad ass," Matt smirked.

"Who's a little bit bad ass?" said a new voice, and they all turned to see the man in question striding along, with a smaller, younger blond man beside him.

"Hawke is," Matt said, jerking his thumb to indicate Caleb. "He's got a minor league scout trying to wine and dine him into going pro next season."

"Nice," Ian said briefly, then held out a rolled-up and rather sizable stack of paper to Alex. "Here, you dumb shit. I hope it's late and you failed the term."

"You're really floundering for a good nickname since I cut my hair, aren't you?" Alex drawled, obviously unfazed. "What's up, Gray? I thought you were going to hang out with Dee's kids again today."

The slender blond shrugged his shoulders. "Didn't feel like it," he said shortly. He crossed his arms over his chest, and Caleb got the impression he was trapping his hands for some reason. Hiding them, keeping them still, something like that. He noticed he was under inspection, and Caleb saw his teeth start to grind. He didn't look the slightest bit comfortable. His eyes were darting around a lot, trying to take in every single person that was walking past. Caleb wanted to keep an eye on the guy in case he was a tweaker or something.

"You guys hungry?" Matt asked cheerfully. "We were all about to go get something to eat."

Ian's eyes flicked over to Gray and then he drawled, "Better not. Thanks, though."

Gray sort of drew himself up, straightening out his shoulders and taking a deep breath. Caleb waited for something climactic to happen.

"No, we can stay," he said firmly. "I'm starving. Come on."

Yeah, the guy was a psycho. Great.

Ian looked surprised, but they all ended up falling in behind the younger guy and entering the building. Once inside, blasted by a more concentrated and amplified noise, Gray just stopped cold. Caleb was starting to figure out what the guy's problem was. He didn't like crowds, or something like that. The twitchiness wasn't drugs, it was just nerves. That was kind of pathetic, but then Caleb's best friend was anorexic or something, so Caleb wasn't about to start judging that kind of thing. At least this guy was trying to work on it.

Ian put his hand on Gray's shoulder. "Hey. You don't have to do this. Come on, let's get out of here."

Gray shrugged his hand off. "I know I don't have to, but I want to," he said irritably. "Just . . . Give me a minute."

"You guys go ahead," Ian said. "We'll catch up."

They did as requested, but as they walked away, Caleb noticed an odd expression on Finn's face. He was looking at Gray with something more than sympathy. It almost looked like he was feeling a sense of kinship. Caleb glanced back one more time as they headed for the sandwich shop, and saw Ian's arms wrapping around Gray. The blond didn't protest in any way, instead turning and pressing his face into his dark-haired companion. Caleb turned and left them alone, but for one second, he felt jealous. And that was a stupid way to feel, so he told himself to knock that shit off.

They'd barely even placed their order before the other two caught up, both of them with faces that told the other guys that saying something would get them an ass kicking. Caleb hadn't planned to say a word because it was none of his business, but he's also noticed the lean muscles and confident stances that both Ian and Gray had, and figured them for martial artists of some kind.

Caleb noticed that Finn was poking at his food without actually eating it, and he leaned in close to say, "If you're thinking I won't force you to eat just cause people are watching, get ready to think again."

Finn glanced up, and Caleb could see that he wanted to laugh, even if he wasn't going to let himself. It lasted only a second, though, before he was back to frowning and moodily poking at his sandwich. "I actually have a valid reason, you know. I'm really worried about Lee."

"It's a hospital. They know what they're doing."

"I know. But you saw him this morning. He's scared to death, even if he's trying to hide it."

Matt heard them. "Lee's your other roommate, right, the kid?"

"Yeah."

"Why's he in the hospital?"

"Told you about his girlfriend having cancer," Caleb reminded him.

"Right."

"He's donating some bone marrow. He shouldn't have had to go by himself, but we both had an exam today and his girl needs to stay out of the hospital to protect her immune system. I think her brother took him in."

"Is it a big deal or something? They just give you a cookie after you donate blood, but bone marrow sounds pretty hardcore."

"They knock you out for it and it's supposed to hurt a lot. Lee says he's fine with it, but anyone would be a little nervous."

"They _are_ about to drive a gigantic needle into him," Finn shrugged. "And let's not forget that as much as he acts like an old man, he's sixteen."

Ian shuddered. "Gigantic needles. Ugh."

Gray rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a wimp, you don't even feel them after a while," he teased Ian, who scowled like Gray had just deeply offended him.

"Not funny," he growled, then looked at Gray's untouched sandwich. "Eat."

Finn, for some reason, had started looking back and forth between Caleb and Ian and a smirk appeared on his face. Caleb felt a strange little flutter in his stomach. Was Finn about to make an honest to God joke at Caleb's expense?

"It's like there's two of you, Papa Bear," Finn said, sounding delighted.

Caleb felt like a hand was squeezing at his windpipe, holding it shut. He'd never thought he'd be so glad to hear that stupid fucking nickname, but now he felt a lump in his throat. He had to say something now, before the moment was gone. But he had to do it like he used to. Quickly, before Finn noticed what he'd done.

"You dumb ass, don't call me that," he growled, and made a half-hearted swing at Finn's head, which Finn easily blocked. It had obviously occurred to him how long it had been since he'd last done this, since he wasn't meeting Caleb's eyes. He was clearly regretting his momentary lapse.

"Do you think they've already started the procedure?" Finn asked, checking the clock on the face of his cellphone. "I don't have to be at work until three, maybe I can swing by . . . Oh, no, I have to turn in some forms at Student Services, I won't have time."

It must have him really worried that no one was with Lee, and Caleb felt another little thrill at that. Obviously his Mommy thing wasn't completely dead and buried yet. That was good. But if neither of them could be at the hospital, then . . .

Oh. Fuck. "Hey. Finn."

"What?"

"It was Balboa, right?"

Finn gaped at him. "Oh," was his answer.

"_What_ was Balboa?" Matt asked curiously.

"Lee's brother. That's where he goes to school, Lee found that out. He said he was going to leave him alone until the end of the school year, but that's almost here anyway."

Finn looked thoughtful.

"Lee needs him, right?" Caleb asked.

Finn continued to look thoughtful.

"I don't give a shit anymore _what_ his problem is. Averil should be there," Caleb said decisively.

"I think Ril would come, if he knew—" Finn started to agree.

"Did you say _Averil_?" Gray asked sharply.

"Yes," Finn answered, puzzled.

"That's . . . not a very common name, is it?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Oh my god," Alex suddenly moaned, dropping his head into his hands. "_That's_ the name of the kid who ran off?"

"Uh, yes."

Caleb's heartbeat was picking up speed. No one made this big a deal out of an unusual name. They knew someone named Averil.

"Why didn't you ever _say_ that?" Alex snapped. "It's always 'Lee's brother' with you morons!"

Caleb was thinking that it made perfect sense to just say "Lee's brother," considering they'd had one conversation with him and it had been months ago. Since he was busy with that thought it was up to Finn to say, with wide eyes and a hand clenched on the edge of the table, "You don't actually mean you . . ."

"I just met him yesterday," Gray said with wide eyes. "He lives across the street from Dee's school. I talked to him for a couple of minutes. He called himself a suicidal amnesiac. I kind of liked him."

"He called himself _what_?" Finn gasped.

"He said he was homeless and couldn't remember much about himself. He's only lived there since January. I asked Dee about him."

"Who the fuck is Dee?" was Caleb's contribution.

"That's my wife," Alex said. "Oh my _god_. She's been talking about this kid for _months_. He moved in with the Williams family and made friends with this little girl at Dee's school because they both have asthma. We had no idea that he . . ."

"What the fuck _happened_ to him?"

"He said he had a head injury. I don't know any details, sorry."

Finn and Caleb looked at one another and Caleb nodded decisively.

"Right. We're going to that high school to look for him. Right now."

"I'm coming, too," Gray said, and then they were all scrambling up from the table and running for their respective vehicles. Alex and Matt more calmly took everyone's garbage, electing not to add to the pandemonium since they didn't actually know the kid. Alex did call his wife, though. She screamed.

* * *

Averil and Zack waited for Sunny in the empty classroom where they always met for lunch. Well, Averil waited, anyway. He sat patiently on top of a desk with his feet resting on the chair. Zack, with his usual lack of concern, was already eating. He wore a look Averil interpreted as pleasure— as well he should be! It wasn't every day Averil used leftover pork roast to make pulled-pork sandwiches with homemade coleslaw, after all.

Zack was looking at _him_, though, not the food. Averil twitched. He felt . . . Weird. Exposed. Today was not any better than yesterday, as far as his stress levels went. Worse, if anything. He'd barely slept.

"You couldn't wait for Sunny?" he asked, just to break the silence. Stupid question, Zack never waited for her. He was making it too obvious that he was uncomfortable. "And do you have to STARE at me while you eat?"

Zack shrugged and moved his eyes away to look out the halfway-open window. Great, now Averil felt absurdly guilty for yelling at him.

"Why—" _Oh god, what's coming out of my mouth, make it stop, oh please don't say it, what is __wrong__ with me?_ "—Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Look at me all the time." Zack didn't _look_ upset by the question, but that was his way, wasn't it? He never looked upset, he just got that way. There were signs. His eyes would narrow down a little and his movements would get a little stiff.

"Are you sure?"

"Am I sure what?"

"That you want to know the answer to that."

"No," Averil said immediately.

The silence began again. It seemed to stretch on forever.

"Yes."

"What?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I want to know."

"Why I look at you?"

Averil, to his horror, felt himself beginning to blush, just to hear him say the words so plainly. "Yeah." _I mean no. I mean __never__._

"Because you're different."

"I— huh?" _Not the answer I was expec— __hoping for__? What?_

"You're not like anyone else I know. You're different. You think about things differently, and say them differently. You even move differently. And it's . . . interesting. I like it. I like watching you."

Averil opened his mouth to scream at him for being absurd and to tell him that he was crazy and was saying stupid things. What came out was, "I like watching you, too." He could feel his face take on a shocked expression. Zack's eyebrows went up. "What did I . . .? I mean, um . . ."

"Me?" Zack said, and a lazy little smile crept over his face. "Why? I don't know about my legs, but I'm not that cute."

_Oh god, he __did__ hear me and Harold!_

"I don't mean— no, I— stop _smirking,_ you bastard! I just think you're interesting, that's all! Like you said! I'm not— I'm just not talking about this anymore!"

Zack shrugged and went on with his sandwich.

"Why did you have to make this sound dirty?" Averil wailed, dropping his face into his hands. "You can't smirk at me like I just said I want to grope you or something!"

A shocked giggle, at the door to the classroom. Averil turned in horror to see Sunny there.

"Am I interrupting a groping session?" she said sweetly. "Because I can come back."

"N-n-no!" Averil stammered in panic. "We are not doing _that_."

"_Still_?" Sunny asked in disappointment.

Averil decided to make sure his feelings on this subject were absolutely clear. Maybe it would convince him they were real. Those feelings being Zack, a friend; Sunny, a goddess. Zack, a guy; Sunny, perfect breasts. He stood up on top of the desk.

"Sunny," he said in the most extravagantly grave tone he could muster up, "you are my one and only love."

Since it was only a joke to her, Sunny just giggled and clasped her hands under her chin. "Darling!" she simpered at him.

He tucked one arm behind himself and the other in front and sketched a clumsy bow. She minced forward on her tiptoes. "Let me fall into your ar— whoops!" She tripped over her own feet and fell into his legs instead of his arms, knocking him backwards.

"Whoa!" Averil cried out in surprise as he fell. There was a sudden horrible pain in his only-recently-healed back and the unmistakable sound of glass breaking. _Great, now I've cut myself on top of bruising it again. Did I break the window?_ He heard a weird sound, like somebody was screaming. _Why am I still falling? What's going on?_

He heard a weird crunching sound just as the falling sensation stopped. Abruptly, he couldn't breathe at all, and the sun was hurting his eyes. His last conscious thought was, _I think I just broke my neck_, and then things went black.

* * *

Zack had tried to grab him when he saw him falling. And he saw through the broken window when Averil hit the ground, far below.

_I missed_.

His sense of reality was shattering. Like glass. Like bloody shards of glass. He felt almost numb as he stared down through the empty window frame at the crumpled body on the ground below him.

_I missed._

It felt like he was wrapped in cotton, filtering the world in a muffled way while his brain was entirely taken up in trying to understand what had happened. He was out the door and running before his mind even registered the sound of Sunny's emergency-siren screams, and it felt like his legs belonged to someone else.

Averil had actually brought it up. He'd actually asked. And he'd listened. And then he'd _said_ it, admitted something that had made adrenaline shoot through Zack's veins. It had been so weird, so unreal.

And then this.

Zack should have been able to catch him. He always saved him. Always. But he'd _missed_. It made no sense. Zack didn't _miss_. But things with Averil never went the way he wanted them to, did they?

He slammed through the front doors and raced across the distance to his fallen friend. _If he's dead, I— He's not dead_, he told himself firmly. _He's not dead. He's __not__._

He threw himself to his knees beside Averil, and looked down at him in shock. He was impossibly broken, impossibly bloodied— but he was alive. His chest was rising and falling, in horrible little interrupted gasps. Okay. Then Zack's responsibility was to _keep_ him alive.

He knew most of the glass was underneath Averil, but he couldn't move him. The possible damage to his back and neck was too much of a risk. So he focused on the gashes he could get to, immediately targeting the deepest ones so he could slow the bleeding. He was wearing a jacket over his shirt, so he took it off and blessed his archery-toughened hands as they easily ripped the material apart.

Sunny got there just as he was starting to tie strips of his jacket around what he could.

"Oh god oh my god Averil oh no Averil please—"

"Here," Zack cut off her wailing, shoving a strip of cloth into her hands.

Without question, she knelt down on Averil's other side and set to work with shaking hands, crying as she did. Zack ignored her, focused completely on making sure Averil didn't die of shock or blood loss.

He looked up when some other students ran over, met the eyes of someone he didn't know. "You. Call 911."

The kid immediately obeyed. Zack tried to lift Averil's shoulder to tie a strip around it, but Averil screamed and he immediately dropped it.

"Ah, ah, ah," he gasped out, a funny little breathless sound that set Zack's heart racing. "It hurts, it hurts," Averil babbled, shocked back into consciousness by the pain. "Zack," he gasped, turning his head just slightly to see him. "Zack, please—it hurts—can't breathe—ah, ah, ah."

Zack folded the cloth up and pressed down hard on the gigantic wound to Averil's shoulder. If he couldn't tie it off, he'd have to keep pressure on it.

"Sunny!" he snapped, seeing that she'd stopped in horror when Averil screamed. She jumped and got back to work. Zack wanted to hate her right now, but he couldn't. He wanted to hate what she'd done, and some traitorous little corner of his brain wanted to hate her for coming into the room when she had. He couldn't hate her. She cared too much about Averil to be guilty of anything.

"Help me," Averil gasped. He was trying to arch his back up to get air, making tiny coughing noises, but Zack pushed down on him to keep him from moving. He twisted his head to the side and sobbed helplessly. _He's not going to die_. _He can't._

Zack pressed one of his hands tight over the shoulder injury, using his other hand to find Averil's and squeeze it. "I kn-know it hurts. S-s-sorry. Just hold on, okay?"

"Zack," he moaned. He closed his eyes again. His fingers twitched, like he was trying to squeeze Zack's hand in return, but he was too weak.

"S-stay with me. P-p-please."

Nothing but gasping.

"Averil. Hey. D-d-don't close your eyes. Look at me. _Look at m-me_!"

Averil obeyed as best he could, but he was fading out. "Don't— tell me— what to do. Bastard," he said, and tried to smile. It was ghastly, his teeth were pink from blood in his mouth.

Zack very, very gently struck Averil on the head—more like he patted him. It created an illusion that they were in a normal situation, nothing more than a panic attack. "Well, breathe then," he said, his stomach twisting into a tight knot. Averil was too calm, now. He was in shock. His leg and arm were broken, probably other things were broken, and he was bleeding so badly . . .

"Stay with me," he said again with sudden urgency. "Averil. D-don't . . ."

"Don't— what?" Averil coughed, his eyes rolling back and showing the whites.

_Don't die. Just please don't die._

"Don't yell at me. You ought t-t-to b-be conserving your energy."

He pressed down hard on the bleeding shoulder and fought tears for the first time since he could remember. He hadn't heard himself stutter since he was eight. He'd been able to look right into his father's face, dry-eyed and clear-voiced, and say that he was moving in with Grandfather and didn't want to see him again. But this was tearing him apart.

"ZACK!" Sunny was yelling right in his ear. It seemed like she must have been trying to get his attention for a while. He looked up.

"Oh. Sorry."

He moved out of the way of the emergency crew, grabbing onto Sunny and letting her cry against his shoulder, but his thoughts and his eyes were fixed on the bloodied figure they were putting on a stretcher.

"We need to have a look at the two of you," one of the uniformed men said briskly, beckoning at them impatiently. "Come on, you might need to come to the hospital for stitches."

Zack and Sunny were both surprised when they looked down and saw the legs of their pants wet with their own blood. They'd cut themselves to ribbons on the broken glass while they were helping Averil. Zack's fingers were mauled from the glass he'd picked out of Averil's skin. He hadn't even felt pain yet. There wasn't room for pain. But since they were slamming the doors and taking Averil away, he acquiesced to the treatment. There was nothing more for him to do.

At least not right now.

Averil was going to live. He'd need someone to take care of him.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Uh, yeah, so you have to wait one more week to actually see the outcome of this development. Sorry. My original outline included a bit more, but the chapter was getting rather too long._

_And because I have neglected to share them with you thus far, I have put up new photos on my profile page that have a picture of SFSU's baseball field and the one of the Science building that houses the History and Anthropology departments. Just so you can see where Caleb and Finn spend a lot of their time._


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

_May 18th_

Caleb wasn't the type of guy who was open with his emotions. Not even with himself. He knew that. It wasn't something he felt the need to work on, either. It got him through the bad spots to pretend he was shut down and they couldn't affect him. He'd seen more than his share of bad spots, and the future seemed bleak in that regard, so he wasn't about to change and suddenly want to talk about his feelings like a fucking girl or something.

Still. It wasn't like he didn't _care._

They'd all headed for the high school together, sort of. They were in their own vehicles, but they all arrived at the same time. Finn (who had obviously forgotten about that urgent paperwork) had planned to go to the office to try to charm Averil's whereabouts from the staff, while Gray said he could pass for a student and some of the other kids might talk to him. But their eyes were caught immediately upon arriving by the taped-off area full of broken glass and rusty red streaks, and they'd heard kids gossiping about how that Reed kid had fallen from the second story and how he might be dead.

That's when Caleb had become separated from the others. They'd seemed surprised that he sprinted back to his bike and left them all behind, as soon as he was told which hospital Averil went to. He didn't know why they were surprised. He was the one who'd driven all over the city for weeks, trying to find the kid.

He'd gone past breaking the law and had just about broken the sound barrier to get to San Francisco General. It was weird, knowing that UCSF Medical Center, where Lee was getting his marrow sucked out, was just up the road. The twins had ended up in the hospital on the same day, no further apart than the two schools they'd ended up attending. Twins weren't supposed to do _this_ kind of shit together.

He got to the hospital well before any of the others. Privileges of having a motorcycle and being unafraid to use it. He hurried inside, not bothering to lock his helmet onto his bike and electing to carry it. "Reed," he panted to the woman at the front desk. "Averil Reed."

"Can I get the spelling from you?"

"Are you fuc— R-E-E-D. Reed. Averil. A-V-E-R-I-L."

Her face made it clear that she was aware of his bad attitude, and furthermore made it clear that she didn't give a shit if he had an attitude problem because she was still doing to do her job a particular way. Amazing just how much could be communicated by pressing your lips together and raising one eyebrow a quarter inch.

"Listen, lady, that kid fell out of a window and broke just about every bone in his body. I want to know if he's okay. Sooner would be better."

"He's out of surgery now," she said. "He'll probably be sleeping off the anesthesia for quite a while. Do you need the room number?"

Caleb did. He managed to avoid chucking his helmet at her head, electing to walk away. Briskly. He just wanted to get there so he could assess the condition Averil was in, so he could head up to UCSF to let Lee know what was going on. That kid had better have forgotten his own goddamn name, or there was no excuse for the hell he'd put Lee through.

He made himself walk instead of run, so he wouldn't get delayed by interfering morons. It wouldn't be his first time getting in a confrontation with hospital staff, but he had other things to do today. He hated hospitals. He hated the squeak of shoes on the polished floor, and he hated that nasty smell of antiseptic that didn't disguise the smell of sickness and pain. He'd spent too much time in places like this.

He found the room quickly, but then came up short. There were people standing in the doorway, partially blocking it, talking in hushed voices. An average-looking guy with hooded eyes, and a cutesy sort of girl with amazing knockers. They both looked pale and shaken. The girl had a blanket loosely draped over her, while the guy was standing there in a shirt with huge bloodstains and pants with neat slices in them. Yeah, this was the right room.

"The kid in there?" he asked as he approached.

They both straightened up and turned to face him.

"Sorry?" the girl asked, like she hadn't heard him.

"Is this Averil Reed's room?"

Maybe on purpose, maybe subconsciously, the boy moved himself in front of the door. "Yeah. Who are you?"

"Funny thing is, I was going to ask you the same question."

The guy looked over at the girl and said, "Sunny. Go get a soda or something."

She tilted her head at him curiously, which made her look like a little kid and made Caleb think she must not be real bright. But then she asked,

"Are you sure?"

She obviously wasn't just asking if the other kid actually wanted her to leave. She was worried about him or something. Maybe some of that blood was his?

"Yeah. I've calmed down. I'm fine n-n-now."

"Uh-huh," she said dryly. "Your grandfather will be back soon, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," she said, trying to sound all chipper again and giving Caleb a quick smile as she clutched her blanket tighter around herself and strode off.

"So," the guy said, crossing his arms and attempting to stare Caleb down. "Who are you?"

It should have been laughable. Caleb had about six inches and close to a hundred pounds on the guy. But the way he stood there in the doorway made it look like he didn't care. He didn't want Caleb in to see Averil until he was sure of Caleb's intentions. Well, fine. He could understand that, even if he didn't know who the kid was.

"I used to be his roommate. He ever mention me?"

"That would be a little t-tough for him, since he d-d-doesn— shit," the guy said, slamming his palm into the wall. "Sorry." He looked at the wall, took a deep breath, and straightened up again. "Averil doesn't remember you. He got hit by a car and he couldn't remember anything."

Caleb scoffed at that, disbelieving. "And nobody thought they should figure out where he came from?"

"He's the one who said not to. He'd packed a bag, it looked like he was running off, so he said that since he didn't plan on going back he didn't need to remember."

"And you thought that sounded fucking reasonable?"

"It was his decision," the guy said. "And none of your business. Where have you b-b-been while he's b-b— Oh, come _on_," he growled, obviously at himself.

"And that's _your_ business?"

Kid wasn't backing down. Was just _looking_ at him, no hint of any embarrassment he might have felt about the stuttering issue. Caleb figured he might as well say something. It wasn't like his pride hadn't already taken a few beatings recently, and he was still pretty confident about being able to deck this kid, if it came down to it.

"I was looking for him, that's where I've been. I was driving his brother all over town looking for him. When he got word that Averil transferred high schools, he said to leave him alone until he was ready to talk. We didn't know what happened. He just never called to explain."

The guy thought about that for a minute, clearly trying to decide if he believed Caleb. Well, maybe Caleb didn't believe _him_, either. Amnesia, seriously, that was some story.

"So he lived with you?" the guy said, trying to clarify something.

"That's what I said."

"And then he ran away from you."

"Yeah, apparently."

"Stay away from him."

"What?"

"You heard me."

Caleb stepped up close to him, eye to eye, and glared at him. "I'm going in that room."

The guy didn't flinch. "No, you're not."

Caleb held his eyes for a moment longer, then stepped back. "Tch," he said, unable to stop a wry smile from creeping onto his face. "I guess not." He was starting to like this kid. He made it clear that Averil was far more important to him than his own safety, and if Caleb respected anything, it was that. He saw it in the boy's eyes—in his mind, Averil belonged to him, and was under his protection. "I just want to know how he's doing so I can tell Lee, all right? I'm here for Lee."

A beat of silence.

"He remembers that name. Sort of. He couldn't remember who it was."

"Lee's his brother. He couldn't remember his damned twin brother?"

"Twin?" Strangely, the guy looked relieved. Why? Oh. Oh, _fuck_, Lee was just going to _love_ this.

"Yeah," Caleb confirmed, smirking. "Except they don't look alike. _Weird_ twins."

"Oh," the guy said, like he was getting a revelation. "Does Lee have brown hair? Kinda short?"

"Uh, yeah . . ." Clearly Averil remembered more than your typical amnesia victim.

"Averil's got a picture of Lee. And some other people. Those his parents?"

"Yeah, I think so. Look, Lee's his only family. He's been worried about him for months. So let me—"

"So where is he, then? Why isn't he here?"

"Because he's in the hospital, too," Caleb admitted wryly. "Must be a twins thing."

"What happened to him?"

Caleb rolled his eyes, unable to see how this was important. "Are you going to let me into the fucking room or not?" He had established what he was here for and established that he wasn't a threat to Averil. He was getting pretty tired of this, so he stepped forward to shove his way past the guy if necessary. Instead, the guy moved to one side.

"Yeah. You can go in. Just— you know— don't . . ."

Caleb stared at the still figure in the bed, not caring what the guy had been trying to say before he trailed off like that. Although it was probably "don't wake him" or "don't touch him" or possibly just "don't breathe too close to him"—because Averil looked _bad_. Really, really bad.

"Fuck," he whispered.

"Yeah," the guy sighed, coming into the room with him.

"I mean, I know he fell out of a window, but— fuck."

"His leg is broken. And his arm. And his c-collarbone. And he has to be sedated right now to k-k-keep him from moving his head. He broke the window with his back, and he had a lot of gashes from that. About 200 s-s-stitches, I think."

Caleb looked at the kid again, hearing the raw pain in his voice and the way the stutter had reappeared, and finally noticed that the kid had bandages on his hands. He'd had them tucked in at his sides before, when his arms were crossed.

"And how many stitches do you have?"

He'd hate to play poker with this guy. His expression never changed. "Forty or so."

"The girl, too?"

"Yeah. About twenty or thirty. Our legs got cut up."

"Kneeling down in the glass?"

"He would have bled out if we hadn't."

"You know that for sure?"

The guy just looked at him for a moment. "Didn't need to," he said briefly, and Caleb made his final decision—he liked this guy. Whoever the hell he was.

He held out his hand. "Caleb Hawke."

"Zack Williams."

They shook hands. Caleb didn't hold back on account of the kid's bandages.

"He lives with me. Me and my grandfather."

"Yeah? We wondered where he was living. How do you guys know him? Lee made a list of all the people they knew, and you weren't on it."

Zack shrugged slightly, his eyes on the unconscious boy they were discussing. "He got hit by a car, like I said. While I was watching."

"Oh."

"He was fine. Just hurt his ribs. Well, and his memory. Anyway. Grandfather's a doctor, so I took him inside and we took care of him. He just stayed."

Caleb frowned, not liking the sound of that. "Averil's not the kind of guy who'd agree to be taken care of like that."

"He wasn't happy about it. But I wasn't going to let him leave. He didn't even remember if he had somewhere else to go."

Ah. That made more sense.

There were running footsteps in the hall. Obnoxious, since he hated the way shoes sounded in here.

"Caleb?" a voice called out. He'd know that voice anywhere.

"Uh, there's the other roommate. And this kid that Averil met yesterday, I guess. He was worried, so he came along."

"Yesterday? Gray?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

Finn came sliding to a halt, Gray and Ian only moments behind him.

"Oh my god. Averil," Finn whispered, and approached the bed cautiously. Averil's pale, pinched face was too much for him, and he backed up. "Is he going to be okay?"

Caleb gestured, and Zack repeated the list of Averil's injuries. Finn just went more and more pale, staring at the blood-soaked shirt and bandaged hands that provided evidence. Caleb automatically started bracing himself. Tonight was going to suck. He wasn't going to count on getting any sleep. He should probably just let him drink this time, though, the nightmares were going to be epic either way. Seeing this, Caleb could use a drink, too. Make that a couple of drinks, since he still had to go explain this to Lee.

Caleb noted that while Ian was blanching at the plaster-coated and tube-wrapped boy, Gray was stoic and observant. Blood must not bother him. But then there had been that comment about needles earlier, too. Maybe he'd been in the hospital recently. Or maybe he was a sociopath.

Finn seemed to overcome his fear, and went to Averil's side. Zack's move to stop him was aborted when Finn raised his hand and gently brushed at Averil's hair.

"Be careful," Zack said soberly. "His skull is cracked."

Finn nodded acknowledgement, staring down at the unconscious boy. "I had to carry him, you know," he said softly.

No one said anything. Caleb was the only one who might have, but he knew Finn would talk if he wanted to and wouldn't if he didn't want to, no prompting required.

"That day I brought them home. Averil was coughing so much that he couldn't get up the stairs out of the basement. Lee was so tiny back then, so I had to carry Averil for him. Ril tried to yell at me. And then he apologized very politely for coughing on me." He just kept stroking as gently as possible at Averil's hair, but there was a wry smile on his face. "He's really is a good kid." He turned to face Zack. "How do you know him?"

Zack repeated what he'd told Caleb, about seeing Averil get hit and taking him home and keeping him there. Finn looked over at Caleb to ensure that Zack was okay by him, then nodded.

"Thank you," he said. But he still looked worried and sad. "How has he been? I don't know if he would have told you, but it's hard to miss that he's— he's sick."

"Yeah, I know. He's doing better now. If he starts having an attack around me, I can usually stop it before it gets too bad. And when he had pneumonia a couple months ago, we had the doctor give him a full exam. He's on an antidepressant now that helps a lot, and his asthma medication is a lot better."

Finn relaxed. "You really take care of him, don't you?" he murmured, brushing his hand over the black hair again. "Thank you."

"Yeah," the guy mumbled in return. Then he frowned. "Why'd he leave?"

"What?"

"You care about him, right? And his brother is there. Why didn't he stay with you?"

Caleb's inclination was to say, "how the hell should we know?" but Finn was answering.

"I don't know for sure. I think he just felt a bit smothered. He thought Lee spent too much time worrying about him instead of himself. He's not as easy-going as the rest of us, and I think we probably made him feel a little out of place. And he probably needed those antidepressants more than we realized. I'm sure there were a lot of reasons. We're just glad he's . . ." Finn trailed off as he realized that Averil was not exactly all right, here. "Well, thanks for helping him. You guys are friends?"

Zack shrugged. "He says we aren't. He fights with me all the time."

Finn's eyes flickered to Caleb. Well, then. At least he _acknowledged_ that Caleb didn't hate him as much as he hated Caleb.

"You seem like you're pretty capable of dealing with him," Finn said.

Before conversation could go any further, Sunny returned with a two cans of soda in her hands.

"Oh, uh, hi," she said perkily. She handed one to Zack and held the other one out toward Caleb. "Should I go get some more? The vending machine is just down there."

"Give it to one of these guys," Caleb said brusquely. "I'm going to see Lee."

"He's not even going to be awake yet," Finn cautioned.

"So I'll be there when he is."

Finn checked his phone again. "I have to go to work," he said in dismay. "When is Ril going to wake up?"

"His skull is cracked, so they've got him sedated to keep him from moving. They want to make sure he'll wake up coherent so they can tell him not to move too much. Probably tomorrow."

"Good," Caleb said decisively. "Lee will be here."

Zack frowned and crossed his arms again. "He doesn't remember. You can't just—"

"Right. You might think you can keep Lee out, but even I couldn't. And I wouldn't."

"Even if Ril doesn't remember, Lee does," Finn said quietly. "You've never seen them, they're . . . well, they're twins. It's . . . Anyway. Maybe if Lee is here, it will help him remember."

Zack didn't look convinced, but that was too bad. Caleb wasn't joking about his ability to keep Lee out of this room once he found out Averil was in it.

* * *

Lee blinked his way into consciousness with a feeling like he was crawling through mud to do it. As soon as he moved, he wished he hadn't. _Ow_. They'd said it would hurt, but _crap._ It felt less like they'd put a needle in his hip and more like they'd tried to hook his hip and yank it out with the damn thing. The pain radiated up his spine and down his legs. He was not going to be getting out of this bed for anything less urgent than a tornado tearing through the building, and even that was debatable.

"Hey, kid, welcome back."

Focused on figuring out just how bad it hurt, Lee hadn't actually noticed that Caleb was in the room. He turned his head and groaned. Caleb winced.

"I won't bother asking how you feel."

Lee voiced his sentiment regarding tornados and the likelihood that he would bother crawling out of its path.

"You sure about that?" Caleb said, and suddenly was wearing a small, fierce smile.

"Why?"

"It's kind of good news and bad news. You want me to wait until you're more awake?"

"No, it's fine. Give me the bad news first."

"It's the same news. I hope you're in one of those hospital diapers, cause you're going to shit yourself."

"Yeah?"

"We're not dumb enough to think you haven't been scared about this."

"Right," Lee sighed, in enough pain to feel impatient. It wasn't exactly like Caleb to drag things out, so this had better be good.

"So we went looking for Averil."

Lee stiffened, and then had to think really hard to remember how to breathe. "_Shit_, Caleb."

"We did find him, but it's a little— mmph. Oh, fuck it, I am not the breaking-it-to-you-gently guy. Averil got in a car accident way back in January and had a head injury. He had temporary amnesia, and I guess he just decided that he didn't want to remember anything and he blocked it all out. He went and got himself a new life. He's been living with this kid your age and the kid's grandfather. They took him in after the accident. I didn't meet the grandfather, but the kid is pretty chill. Zack Williams. I like him."

Lee tried to wrap his mind around that. "He . . . He doesn't remember me? He doesn't remember any of us?"

"Apparently not. But I couldn't ask him, because he's actually in the hospital right now, too. He fell out of a window."

Lee managed to sit up without crying, but only just. "Where is he? What hospital?"

"Calm down," Caleb said, holding his hand up. Lee found himself wanting to tear Caleb's hand off. "He's not conscious right now. They're keeping him that way until tomorrow. He's pretty busted up, so they're being careful."

"Oh, god." Lee was not sure where the pain was radiating from anymore. "Just tell me how bad it is."

"His head, his collarbone, his arm, his leg, all broken. He's lucky it wasn't his back. Although his back is covered in gashes from the broken glass. He looks like a fucking train wreck."

Lee whimpered.

"So lay your ass back down for a while. You'll have to wait until Tom comes back anyway, I'm not putting you on my bike in this condition. You might as well just wait until tomorrow, give yourself a day to feel better."

"If Tom won't take me there, I'll take the bus," Lee said spontaneously. "I don't care. I want to be there. I'll sleep on the floor next to him if I have to, but I want to be with him." His mind kept chanting his brother's name, and it was hard to think of anything except just _being_ there.

"Oh, yeah? You're just going to leave Sara hanging, worried sick about you?"

Lee glared at him. He had to be so logical, the bastard. He was cutting through that happy _Ril, Ril, Ril_ and remind him of his responsibilities. "I hate you."

"You're finally getting on board that train?" Caleb said casually. "Go for it. It's not going to make me wrong."

Lee sighed and lay down again—carefully. "I know. I can't even sit up right now."

Lee's doctor peeked his head into the room, so the two of them fell silent. He was a nice guy. He'd explained everything carefully, but he'd assumed that Lee was reasonably intelligent, instead of treating him like a dumb kid. He'd said to call him Anthony instead of Doctor, even though the senior doctor who was watching him like a hawk had frowned about that. He was very young, and had the same ashy-blond hair that Yuri had.

"How are you feeling?" he asked cheerfully.

With this guy, Lee felt like he could just be honest. "Kind of like I got run over by a semi."

Anthony smiled with sympathy. "I hear you, but don't worry. This level of pain won't last too much longer. You'll be sore for a few days, but you'll be back on your feet sooner than you think."

"That's good. I have a lot to do."

"So I heard."

"Huh?"

Anthony was grinning at him. "I just got a phone call from my friend Alex. He and I were underclassmen together, and we still try to stay in touch. I like to think I was instrumental in convincing him to marry Dovie instead of holding a grudge against her."

"My god, does everyone in this fucking city know each other?" Caleb grumbled.

Lee smiled with confusion. "Uh . . . I don't know them."

"Sorry, I guess you've missed out on some of the excitement while I was extracting your bone marrow," Anthony laughed. "Dovie works at a kindergarten that is right across the street from the Williams' house, where your brother has apparently been living. She actually knew all about Averil, but she didn't know that was the name of your brother, the missing kid. It's all very confusing, but she's overjoyed that things are working out. Anyway, Alex called me up and told me about it because he knew you were here today and he wanted to see if I could drop in to check on you. And then I got to tell him you're my patient," he finished with a soft laugh. "It's funny how these things work out, isn't it?"

Lee was gracious enough to smile, but he didn't think any of this was funny. It was some kind of comedic tragedy, and he didn't like any of this. He wanted to see his princess, and he wanted to see his brother. Now.

"Can I go home now?"

Anthony immediately dropped his casual attitude, which made Lee warm up to him a little more. He did seem to have some respect for Lee's situation.

"Not yet, I'm afraid. I know how anxious you must be to get out of here, but I want to keep an eye on you for a few more hours, just to be sure there's no complications. Okay? After that, we'll let you go home. But you have to go home, and take it easy, at least for today. Do you understand? I would hate to let you go and find out you tried to overdo it, and then you wound up downstairs in emergency because you fell down the stairs or something."

"Wouldn't be his first time," Caleb snorted, but he reached out with one of his big hands and ruffled Lee's hair for a moment. "Sorry, kid. I told you, Averil will have to wait until tomorrow."

Lee wanted to scream, but he bowed his head under Caleb's attempt at reassurance. "Okay." He had to listen to the people around him, he realized. He was too emotional to be rational right now. His roommate and his doctor were both telling him the same thing, and he needed to listen to them. God help him.

"Are you going to stay here to keep him company?" Anthony asked Caleb politely.

Caleb checked his watch. "Actually, I have to go. As long as I don't get pulled over, I think I'll make it to my exam."

"Okay," Lee said, trying not to sound as disappointed as he felt. He didn't want to sit here alone until the hospital decided to let him go. Being in pain and immobile was not fun.

"Well, I'll be back in a bit," Anthony said. "Like I told you earlier, I'm still in residency, so the doctor who works over me will be coming along to help me handle your release. Try to get some rest."

"Yeah," Lee responded.

"I would have been here sooner, you know," Caleb said when Anthony left. He sounded so casual that it raised Lee's suspicion. "But I had to spend a while arguing with that Williams kid. He wouldn't let me into Averil's room."

"Why not? Didn't you tell him who you were?"

"Yeah. But he's got this protective thing that . . . Well, reminds me of me." Caleb grinned fiercely. "Get some rest, kid. Averil will be okay. I'll see you tonight."

"Good luck with your test," Lee called after him weakly. _Protective about Ril, who looks like a train wreck . . . Shit . . . I need to go now._

He tried to get up, and bit down on a scream. He laid back on the bed, feeling like his impatience and his pain were a balloon that was slowly inflating in his chest and making it hard to breathe. "Ugh." He started trying to find faces in the ceiling texture to pass the time. All he could think about was Ril. His brother was hurt. Didn't remember him. Lee wanted to go to him, _needed_ to go to him. The pain he felt didn't matter, with this weighing on his mind. And Ril was so . . . just . . . _Ril_-like. So vulnerable if you knew how to push his buttons. Lee could not put his mind at ease about the "Williams kid," even if Caleb had offered a favorable opinion. It was something he had to know for himself, because Ril was his twin.

But first, he told himself very firmly, he had to go home to see Sara. There was nothing to be done about Ril until tomorrow. He had a responsibility to Sara today, to show himself to her and assure her that he was okay. She was terribly worried about him, and she'd been very upset that she couldn't come today. She needed him, too.

Lee did, eventually, doze off, and napped in fits and starts until Tom came to pick him up.

"Hey, brat," Tom said brusquely, striding in with his hands in the pockets of his jeans and a silent red-headed nurse in his wake. "You ready to get out of this hellhole?"

"So ready," Lee sighed, rubbing his eyes with his heels of his hands to wake himself up. "How's Sara?"

Tom just frowned. "They need to get this procedure over with. She's so dizzy and tired today that I almost brought her in with me. Yuri's staying with her . . . I think I'm gonna call out of work."

"Don't do that," Lee said, sitting up slowly as the nurse quietly began detaching him from the devices they had monitored him with. "I'll be with her tonight."

"Yeah, but you look like crap. Besides, I heard the news about your brother. Don't you want to go over there?"

"News travels fast," Lee muttered. "And, yes, I do want to. But it wouldn't do any good, because he's unconscious right now. I know that Sara needs me as much as he does. I know she's going to be worried until she sees me. So go to work. I'll be with her."

Tom sighed and gave him a look that was half-puzzled and half-exasperated. "Maybe when things calm down around here, you can work on that martyr complex of yours."

The nurse was just standing there, waiting for them to finish their conversation so she could talk.

"Ah, I guess we're being rude. Sorry," Lee said, giving her a sheepish look.

The nurse did not seem inclined to be forgiving. She didn't even crack a smile. "Okay. I need you to be very, very honest with me for a moment, Mr. Reed. I need you to tell me how you feel. Do you think you're up to leaving?"

"Yes," Lee said automatically.

"Are you going to be able to take care of yourself tonight without hurting yourself?"

"Um . . . I think so, yes. And I'm not worried, anyway. I think my roommate will be home."

The nurse just scowled at that. "And do you think your roommate is going to be—"

"Listen, lady," Tom cut her off, "I know his roommate. He might not have your bedside manner, but he'll pick Lee up and carry him if it keeps the kid from overexerting. Lee will be fine."

"Hmph."

"So . . . Can I go?"

"Your doctor is coming in to give you some final instructions, and there is also someone on the way with a wheelchair, who will take you to the desk to process the paperwork and to take you to the entrance."

"I don't need a wheelchair!" Lee protested, jumping to his feet—well, nearly jumping. It was more that he staggered to his feet, turned white, and sat down again. "Uh, okay," he mumbled. "Just to the car."

"Good man," Anthony said cheerfully, striding in. His mentor, silent and with a strangely disapproving manner, was right behind him. "I don't want any heroics out of you, Lee. You need to take care of yourself so Sara doesn't worry about you, right?"

Lee mumbled an affirmation and tried not to blush. Tom was right there and was still in denial about how important Lee and Sara were to each other.

"Okay, here are the instructions. I'll make them fast, because I know you're a good kid and you're going to listen to me. Do not walk around without someone to help you tonight. You may feel stronger than you actually are, and nobody wants an accident, do they?"

"No."

"Are there stairs at your home?"

"Yes."

"Someone needs to help you with the stairs. I want you to stay in bed as much as possible for another day. I want you to have a healthy meal. I want you to drink water until you feel like you'll explode, then drink some more. Don't go to school or work for at least two days. Okay?"

"Yeah," Lee said, feeling oddly disheartened by his alleged weakness. It was hard to be a knight in shining armour if you were limping around leaning on your roommate. Oh, man. Sara. If she saw him like this, she was going to feel so guilty. But it couldn't be helped, this time. Tom had to go to work.

"I heard someone in here needed to catch a ride to the front door!" A man pushing an empty wheelchair appeared in the doorway, and Lee immediately found him excessively perky.

"That would be me," Lee sighed.

That balloon in his chest was expanding again, fueled now by annoyance and embarrassment as much as pain. He stood up, pivoted himself, and practically fell into the creaking plastic seat. Allowing himself to be pushed down the hallway in a wheelchair was humiliating, with Tom watching him. How was he going to believe Lee could take care of his sister like this?

But he would. He always found a way.

* * *

Their looks were so different. He'd never been able to understand that.

He didn't want to think, he didn't _want_ to, he wanted these thoughts to stop but he was so deep underwater that he couldn't fight his way out—

They loved each other. That had never been a question.

But it wasn't enough sometimes, and wasn't it important to be happy, didn't he deserve that as much as anyone else—

Always with him. Looking after him. Making him feel safe.

But he hated seeing how he bent over backwards and wore himself down, and maybe he didn't need that because he wanted to stand on his own, and it hurt to watch someone sacrificing everything for him when he just wanted a chance to do it himself and now he just wanted these thoughts to _go away_—

His twin.

They were twins.

He'd forgotten.

How could he have let himself forget this?

It was complicated and maddening, but it was the best thing in the world. And he'd _forgotten_. He'd _wanted_ to. But now he was sucked into the blackness, trapped in there, and he had no choice but to think about it and remember and to feel a sudden, insane, powerful urge to see him.

_Get out, get out of here, wake up, just wake up, you have to find him, and he's not the only one because there's someone waiting for you and you have to wake up and find—_

"Lee."

He wanted to scream and wake himself up. But there was only a hoarse whisper that belonged to someone else, and he was afraid to open his eyes.

"Lee."

He needed him. That was all he knew. He needed him. He was so afraid to open his eyes, because he thought he might be dead and there would be pain. He just needed Lee.

"Lee."

He heard running footsteps. A breathless voice, feminine and familiar to him even though he couldn't remember yet.

"He keeps saying Lee's name. Are they here yet? He's waking up, I know he is!"

"They're on their way."

Another voice that he knew. More footsteps now. Not his. Not either of the right people. It was too much right now, too much to face, if neither of _them_ were there. He drifted in the black. He didn't know how long. But soon he found that the hunger to see him was overtaking him.

"Lee," he whispered. His mouth was thick and parched— yes, his mouth; he had to work his way through the sludge to understand the sensations and find their proper place on his body—there was also a growing red pulse from lower down, from lots of places, too many to think about. "Lee."

A squeaking noise, and more footsteps.

"Oh, you— you're him, right? He's starting to wake up, you're just in time. He keeps saying—"

"Lee?"

"OhmygodAveril." It all sounded like one word, like he would cry soon. Something inside seemed to unclench when he heard that voice. "Ril, can you hear me?"

"Lee, help," he whispered.

"I'm right here. I'm right here, Ril. Can you feel that?"

There was pressure on him. On something. On his hand. "Yes."

"Can you open your eyes?"

Did he want to? "Is it bad?"

Lee squeezed his hand.

"It's not that bad," said a different voice, in a low pitch that immediately registered with him, and that thing inside relaxed even further. He knew that voice, too. That was the other voice he needed. "You're just covered in plaster. Can you breathe, or you want me to hit you?"

So normal. So calm. It couldn't be too bad, then. Not really. He stuttered if it was really bad—that was something he'd learned, which he hadn't wanted to know, but which he would keep close in his heart now.

"So are you just saying his name by reflex, or do you know who he is?"

He finally felt ready to open his eyes.

Everyone was here. Sunny was standing in the back, leaning against Harold. They looked excited. Sunny was very pale. There was Zack. Zack looked . . . He would think about Zack and how he looked later, when it wasn't so complicated and he wasn't coated in molasses that slowed him down. And Lee. Lee, with his brown hair and brown eyes and noble look that was so much like their parents. But he looked concerned and sad and _tired_.

"Lee," he said with sudden urgency. "Lee, you're in a wheelchair. You're— oh my god— Lee— what happened? Are you—"

Zack gave him a very light whack on the shoulder. Even though he'd been careful, Averil still bit down on a cry of pain. "I'd hit your head, but you broke it," he said mildly.

Averil stared at him. "Oh. Is that why I think I'm drunk or something?"

"Probably," he smirked. "You're also on a lot of medication."

Averil looked down and sucked in a shocked breath. "Oh, god . . ." he moaned. "I'm broken. What happened? I don't— oh my god I fell out of a window— Sunny!"

She stepped forward, still looking pale but eager.

"Sunny, it's okay. I don't know what's wrong with me but I'm not mad, okay?"

Tears flooded her eyes and she stepped back into Harold, who gave Averil a proud smile as he put an arm around her.

"Um, what's wrong with me?"

Lee told him in a soft and hesitant way that he had a head injury.

"So please try not to move, unless they tell you it's okay. You have to stay still."

Averil found himself gasping. He couldn't breathe. He was badly hurt. He could hurt himself even worse. This was scary.

"Ril, Ril, don't," Lee said in dismay, standing up out of the wheelchair with a grimace and leaning over him so he could see the grief and worry on his brother's face and feel guilty for putting it there. "Shh, calm down."

"I— I'm trying—" He needed to cough, but he shouldn't, it would be bad . . .

"Averil," Zack said firmly, standing beside Lee and putting a firm hand on Averil's shoulder. "Stop that. You know you don't need to panic. You're going to be fine."

"But it hurts," he whimpered, realizing that it did. That strange red throbbing had located itself. He was in terrible, terrible pain. His head hurt, all down his shoulder to the tips of his fingers, and it seemed like he just hurt all over. All down his back and his leg; only half of that made sense because there was a cast around his leg, but he didn't know about the stabbing back pain. "It really hurts."

"Ril, I'll get your doctor, we'll get you some more medicine."

"Okay. But Lee, I don't want you to go. Why are you hurt? What's going on?"

"I'll tell you later, when you're feeling better."

"Zack's getting the doctor for that," he said with assurance, seeing that Zack had abruptly left. "Lee, what happened to you? Are you okay?"

"You're just going to worry until I tell you, huh?" Lee said with a familiar wry smile. "But you're going to worry just as much if I tell you."

"Lee," he said softly, squeezing his brother's hand that still clasped his. "You look like you've been worrying so much lately."

"They told me you didn't remember me."

"I didn't, but it's complicated. I'm really sorry. I am. I just needed . . ."

"It doesn't matter right now, Ril. We can figure that out later. I just want you to know that I'm here if you need me. If you want me to be. I know you're in pain right now, so you don't need to think about anything. Just tell me if you want me to leave."

"No," he said automatically. "I want you to forgive me. Please?"

"Yes," Lee said instantly. "I forgive you."

"I won't forget you again, Lee."

"Can I stay with you?"

"Yes."

"Thank you," Lee said fervently, leaning over their clasped hands. He straightened up with a wince of pain. "I'm gonna have to sit down, though." He sank back into the wheelchair.

"Was Zack pushing you?"

"Uh, yeah . . . Caleb dropped me off, but he had to go park the car."

Averil was beginning to feel very tired. "Caleb doesn't have a car."

"He's borrowing Finn's car."

"Are they still fighting?" he asked dreamily.

"They're, uh . . . There's a lot to tell you."

Caleb walked in just then, with Zack and someone who looked like hospital staff.

"Yay, drugs," Averil muttered when he saw the scrubs.

"Nice to see you, too, kid," Caleb grinned at him.

"Hi, Caleb."

"You look like road kill."

"Lucky . . . I can't yell at you right now. Is Finn coming?"

"He's at work. He's coming later."

Caleb's expression was shut down. And Lee was in pain. Obviously "a lot to tell you" was something of an understatement. Averil felt too terrible to be able to deal with it. It was overwhelming, and he just needed to get away for a while.

"Zack, will you take me home?" he whispered, but the nurse or doctor was twisting the knob on his IV drip, flooding his system with relief and oblivion.

Averil's eyes slipped closed and he didn't see the grief on Zack's face, but the rest of them did. He took the chair that Sunny had vacated, dragged it to the bed, and settled into it like he was setting up a military base. He stationed himself next to Averil's head and wore a grim expression that made it clear he would move when they picked up his cold dead body. If he couldn't take Averil home, then he wouldn't be going, either.

Lee stared at Zack. Being pushed by him had been something of a necessity, since he still felt ridiculously weak (which was because promises aside, he'd overdone it while taking care of Sara), but they'd been nearly silent all the way up here. Now he had the chance to observe him.

He cared deeply for Averil, he wasn't trying to hide that. He wanted to be with him while he was hurt. He kept Averil calm and reacted well when faced with possible attacks. And then, what Averil had said . . . Home. He'd said home.

Zack was . . . Well. Lee would keep him under observation for now.

* * *

_**A/N:** Averil is a little OOC in that last scene, but please remember that he is ridiculously high. I had a friend in the hospital who, upon being given morphine, began to hallucinate about pirates. Averil's actually remarkably coherent for a person with that many injuries._

_On a different topic, Anthony the doctor is from Kobato, where his name is Domoto Takashi. Anthony and Takashi have the same meaning. He is an old friend of Fujimoto (Alex) and he develops feelings for Kobato (Dovie) before Fujimoto realizes his own. When he realizes that the two of them have romantic feelings for each other, he graciously retreats and even pushes Fujimoto's buttons to make him get closer to her. At the end of the anime, he is shown graduating from college and becoming a doctor. He is an extremely nice person and I was actually sort of cheering for him and Kobato. I hope he ends up with a wonderful girl._

_And just so you all know, in the first draft of this chapter, there was no doctor. There was a nurse who was flirting with Caleb until he ran away and Lee told her that Caleb was not available as he was already with a very pretty blond. Lee is easily amused.  
_


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

_May 20__th_

Finn missed visiting hours the first day that Averil woke up, but he did go the next day. He really, really didn't like being in the hospital, but he hated Caleb's subversive methods of making him feel guilty even more so. And if he allowed himself a moment of true honesty, he was being weak. He wanted to see Averil badly enough that it was overriding the need to push him away so he couldn't get hurt.

When he got to the doorway, though, he had to turn around and release a soft snicker of amusement. Lee and Zack Williams were seated on opposite sides of the bed, both asleep. Lee had leaned forward onto the bed and pillowed his head on his arms, while the other boy had leaned his chin on his hand and was still sitting up.

He woke up immediately when he heard Finn's movement, his sharp eyes locking in on him right away.

"Oh, hello. I see you two are keeping vigil." It started to come out cheerful, with his old instincts, but it ended up a bit flat and sarcastic—which was weird. He hadn't felt the desire or need to wear that flamboyant mask, but sometimes it seemed to come out on its own. Consequences of doing it for over a year, he supposed.

"Yeah," the guy muttered, scrubbing his hands over his face to try to wake up. "He was awake again for a while last night, but he's been sleeping a lot."

"He _is_ being pumped full of drugs," Finn shrugged. "I can sympathize."

"Yeah? These guys tell me you never sleep."

"Do they?" Finn muttered darkly. "I must be popular, all the people who talk about me when I'm not here."

"Well, they're not wrong. There's another bed here if you need it," he said, gesturing over his shoulder by jerking his thumb.

Finn held back his laughter. Caleb was right; this kid was pretty chill. His amusement was short-lived, however, because if even a stranger could tell he wasn't doing well, then he must be pretty bad. The last two nights of failed sleep would have been horrible under any circumstances, but they'd come after nearly a week of dream-free rest. It sucked to admit that whatever Caleb was doing was apparently working, but it sucked even more when it didn't work.

"I just wanted to see how he's doing," Finn finally answered, dragging over another chair from the wall of chairs that had accumulated in this room. He knew people in Averil's condition weren't allowed to have as many visitors as there were chairs, but anyone who looked at Lee's pleading face couldn't say no to him. The boy had a way about him—he said he understood and it was okay, and it made you feel so guilty for denying him that you just had to change your mind.

The chair dragging across the floor didn't even rouse Lee. Poor kid. He was probably still sore and drained from the procedure on Tuesday.

"His skull is putting itself back together faster than expected," Zack answered. "The rest of him is going to take a while."

Finn nodded, pressing his hands together and resting them between his knees, to remind himself not to touch Averil. He kept wanting to, just to make sure he was really alive.

"Lee can handle just about anything," he said quietly. "He's proven that. I think he'll do a great job of supporting Averil."

Zack's eyes darted to Lee, but he didn't let them linger there. He looked up at Finn bravely. "I heard about his girlfriend."

How _cute_. He didn't think Finn could tell how much that comment had bothered him. Finn didn't know what was going on, not completely, because he hadn't been here to talk to Ril when he was awake. But in his own opinion (which he'd formed upon hearing that Averil had asked Zack to "take him home") was that Lee shouldn't count on being the one who took care of Averil this time.

"And if he wants to go back home with you, Lee will support that, too," he said. He hoped he was right. Lee was quite possibly the _least_ selfish person on the planet, but he would also have a hard time letting his twin do something if he thought it was harmful. He didn't yet know how Lee felt about Zack. He hadn't really been around to ask.

And the guilt just kept piling on . . . But it was better than the alternative. If he let them close, they'd only get hurt. And now he had the added incentive of getting out of here before Arthur figured out who they were.

Lee's back shifted. A little grunting noise escaped from the cage of his arms. His body was clearly not thrilled that he was waking up. He looked up blearily, moaning a little, with his long-neglected hair falling into his eyes. Finn was sitting beside him, and for a moment he couldn't help the burst of affection he felt for "his" kid. He reached out and pushed the hair from Lee's face, then dropped his hand to pat his shoulder.

"You okay?"

"Mmm," Lee answered.

"Maybe you should go home and get some rest."

Not that he was likely to get any, since Sara was at home and she was not doing well. Lee would just be sitting by her bedside if he wasn't at Averil's.

"No," Lee said. "I have to be here when he wakes up." He wiped a bit of drool from the corner of his mouth, and immediately looked up to see if Zack had noticed. Finn found that interesting. "He's been really disorientated whenever he wakes up."

"I can handle it, if you want to go," Zack said calmly.

"I'm staying," Lee replied.

Finn found that _very_ interesting.

Lee turned to him, then. "Thanks for coming," he said. "Averil's been asking about you."

"I've been working a lot," Finn grimaced. He didn't apologize, much as he wanted to. He wasn't allowed to be sorry, because he wasn't allowed to care. He was trying to get used to that. His life, his curse—it had been a long time since it had hurt this bad. But then, it had been a long time since there had been anyone important to him.

"Did you get back to school to turn in those forms you forgot about on Tuesday?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. They were late, but I can be very charming when the occasion calls for it."

Lee rolled his eyes at that, but thankfully didn't tease him to get the old Finn's reaction out of him. He just wasn't up to it, these days, whether Lee missed him or not. Although he couldn't get that comment out of his head, since he missed Lee, too.

_Maybe it's possible to hate myself to death . . . _

They chatted inconsequentially about Finn's job at the café, which could be interesting since he'd become a jack of all trades around there and since he had collected so many entertaining "bad customer" stories. This kind of small talk made it easier to ignore the entire herd of elephants trampling through the room.

After a few minutes, the circle of voices around his head caused Averil to wake up, which he did slowly and reluctantly—yet another way the twins were alike. Finn had been told that this could be an emotional event, since every time Averil woke up he remembered something new from before his accident. His memories were coming back in stages as he dealt with the problems his amnesia had kept at bay.

Today, though, his eyes went straight to Finn and a smile broke across his pale and scratched-up face. He had an impossibly sweet smile sometimes, and today it brought back that fierce feeling of protectiveness and affection he'd had for the boys when he first took them home.

"Hi," Averil said happily. "You finally came."

"I've been busy," Finn shrugged, and abruptly wanted to cry. Averil hadn't had any chance to get used to the way things had to be. He was bound to be so hurt by the change. But this was necessary, he reminded himself. He was a walking danger to people he loved, and there was Arthur to consider.

"Yeah, Lee told me you've been working a lot."

"Always do, don't I? But who cares about me, anyway? How are you feeling?"

Averil started to shrug, then grimaced. "As well as can be expected."

"Miserable, then?"

"And bored," Averil sighed. "I'm getting out of here as soon as they stop worrying that riding in a car will kill me. Until then, I have to put up with these guys hanging around all the time."

"Hey," Lee said playfully. "We'll leave you here with the stellar programming for daytime television. Just say the word."

Averil groaned. "Finn, you won't leave, right? If you leave, it's 'All My Children' again."

"Finn was about to tell us the story of why he's not a plumber."

"A plumber?" Averil asked in confusion. "Why would you be a plumber?"

"Are you sure you want to hear this story?" Finn sighed. "It has chunks of mold in it."

"It's better than finding out if Damon really is Stuart's father or if Bailey's lying. My brains are already scrambled enough."

"Damon. . .? Never mind, I'll tell the story."

"Let me sit up first," Averil said, then looked at Zack. Zack handed him a little remote control device, which Finn recalled from his own brief hospital stay. Averil pushed the button and the bed whined its way into sitting him halfway up. He was working his jaw with obvious discomfort and pain, but Finn understood how important the little things like being able to make eye contact were when you were stuck in here.

"I have to issue the disclaimer first: My manager doesn't deserve any loss of respect for throwing up. Okay? It was this day we first realized we were required to empty out the machine that makes ice . . ."

* * *

Finn eventually left, citing a need to fill out some paperwork that he had to get in the mail, though he was unspecific as to the nature of the paperwork. Averil waited until he was reasonably sure Finn was out of earshot before he turned to Lee.

"You tried to tell me, but I thought—well, I don't know what I thought. He's so _different_."

"Yeah," Lee answered, looking down at his feet. "It's . . . been weird. And I can tell how bad it's been for Caleb. He'd never say anything, but—" He looked over Averil's head, at Zack, and stopped talking.

Lee had told him about Finn getting shot by that jackass Seth (and Averil was suddenly glad instead of upset that Lee had made sure he'd never met Seth) and that Finn had been acting weird ever since. He knew that Finn had a hard time sleeping and that he only ate when Caleb forced him to. But in all the time he'd known Finn, the man had been bright and exuberant and unashamed of it**.** Averil guessed that it made sense for Lee not to trust Zack yet, but this was more than depressing, it was _eerie_.

"Tell me, Lee."

"Finn treats him like crap," Lee blurted out, his cheeks pinking with an abrupt anger. "It's not fair. He . . . He wanted to die so bad, and Caleb wouldn't let him, and now he's just . . ."

"Wait, wait, what do you mean he wanted to die?" Averil squawked out, forgetting himself and trying to push himself to sit up. He fell back against the bed, biting down his cry of pain. Zack's hand pressed down on his good shoulder firmly and comfortingly. He didn't say anything. Averil didn't know how other people found Zack so unobtrusive, even though he'd heard classmates say Zack had a way of making them forget he was there. Just because he wasn't talking? Averil couldn't imagine _not_ being aware that Zack was there. But Lee went on talking like he hadn't noticed Zack's movement.

"When he got shot, he told us not to call an ambulance. I mean, we ignored him and did it anyway, but . . . Finn was talking about something he was afraid we'd find out about him, and about how hard it was to live and how easy it would be to die—" Lee paused to dash tears off his cheeks, and Averil found that his own fingers were clenching into the sheet on his bed, with the one hand he had at his disposal. "I really thought he was going to die there. He was bleeding so much. Caleb had to do CPR. He broke Finn's ribs."

Averil winced. He remembered the pain he had endured after the car accident, and his ribs had only been bruised. Miraculously, they had escaped damage this time, even if the rest of his body hadn't.

"Finn wouldn't let him forget it, either. When they let him come home, he was all drugged out and weird and I was trying to blame how he was acting on the medication, but he just got worse after he stopped taking it. He slept on the couch for a few days because it hurt him to lay down. But things changed . . ." Lee paused for a moment, which was when Zack stood up.

Averil turned to look at him questioningly.

"Stretching my legs," he said casually. "I'll be back."

Whatever Lee still had to say, he was reluctant to say it in front of Zack. Averil thought it was weird that Zack was willing to leave, but maybe it was only him that Zack enjoyed pissing off.

In truth, Averil didn't really want him to leave. He didn't know what was going on in his own thoughts right now, but his confusion took a backseat to his certainty that he felt better when Zack was where Averil could see him. He wasn't even trying to reason it out right now, he figured that could wait until he wasn't in so much pain and feeling so vulnerable and useless in this stupid hospital bed. Averil resisted the most _horrifying_ urge to reach out and squeeze Zack's hand before he left. God, he didn't know why he wanted to do _that_, it made no sense—why would he want to touch Zack at all, let alone do something weird like that? And what would be the point, anyway? To remind him to come back or something?

Once Zack had gone, Lee spoke again, shrugging his shoulders with confusion. "Everything else is just stuff I've guessed. They don't talk to me about this. I mean, Finn barely talks to me anyway, and Caleb will only talk about stuff in my life."

"My brains aren't _that_ scrambled," Averil said irritably. "I'm not going to ask them about it."

"Yeah, I know. It's just weird. Because I know that Finn stopped being able to sleep, but I don't really understand why. A couple of times in the middle of the night I've heard him start _screaming_, so I guess he has nightmares. He started drinking a lot for a while, but Caleb won't let him do that anymore. Caleb is seriously taking care of him. He makes food for him and . . ." Lee blushed.

Averil stared at him. "Oh my god," he said. "Why—why are you blushing? They're not—oh my god, are they?"

Lee blushed even more. "I don't think so, but they're both sleeping in Caleb's bed."

Averil gaped at him. "But that's . . ."

"I don't get it, either," Lee said. "I think Caleb just wants to make sure he's sleeping or something. I mean, I honestly can't tell if Caleb even thinks that way. I think he just really, really cares about Finn. Maybe it's not that important, you know?" He was still blushing, but he tried to shrug it off. "I mean, I wouldn't care if Sara never wanted—" He stopped abruptly in horror. "I need to stop talking now," he said in a very small voice.

"It's not like it's any big surprise that you're interested in Sara," Averil said, rolling his eyes. He just did not understand how Lee could be so innocent and embarrassed about it at this point. Lee wasn't exactly sheltered or naïve, but he'd always been ridiculously shy when it came to Sara. Which of course had been Averil's first clue.

"I'm not 'interested' in Sara," Lee said firmly, finally getting over his embarrassment and meeting Averil's eyes. "I love her."

Averil was surprised, to say the least. Lee didn't use that word at random. But it did make sense, he thought, with everything that had been happening over the past few months. He hadn't been there. Lee had needed someone to be close to. And with Sara's illness, they'd skipped over so many stages of a typical relationship and had gone straight to "I will sacrifice anything for you." Lee didn't do things halfway. He wasn't that kind of person. Sara's cancer had forced him to make a choice really early in the relationship. He had chosen to be with her, and he would follow that road all the way to the end.

"She's . . . I don't know how to say it."

"You just did," Averil said fondly. "You love her."

"She's everything," Lee said hoarsely. "Ril, if she dies, I don't know what—"

He abruptly stopped talking and buried his face in his arms on the edge of Averil's bed. Averil didn't try to get up again, but he felt extremely frustrated that Lee was sitting by his broken arm and he couldn't reach him with the good arm.

"I thought her doctor said she had a really good chance with this bone marrow thing."

"He did," Lee choked out. "But she's so sick and I'm scared for her. I don't want to lose her."

Lee sobbed, burying his fingers in Averil's sheets.

_He doesn't cry in front of anyone else. Just me. For the last four months, he . . ._

Averil choked back his own tears He'd left his brother alone for too long, and he had to start making up for it now. "You won't," he said hoarsely. "She's going to get well, I know she will. Because of what you're doing for her, Lee. If you hadn't been there for her and if you didn't love her so much, she wouldn't be getting your bone marrow. I wish that . . . Hey, maybe I can give her some, too . . ."

"No," Lee said firmly, looking up with a blaze in his eyes. "The last thing you need right now is more pain."

Right. He hadn't really thought about that, but he should have. If his tough-as-nails brother could barely hobble around after the extraction, it would probably just send Averil straight into a coma at this point. And that was if they could get the hospital to agree to do the procedure on someone who'd just lost a game of chicken with the ground.

"Speaking of pain, how much longer before they do the transfer on Sara?"

"They'll start it tomorrow," Lee said, his voice tinged with relief.

God. How was Lee doing this? How did he keep going? Caught up in the situation with Caleb and Finn, watching what Sara was going through—and worrying about him, this whole time. It was too much for one person. The only explanation that Averil could think of was that Lee was just very good at hiding how close he was to a nervous breakdown. They'd been through a lot and Lee had always been strong, but at some point it had to be too much, right? Being here with him was probably just even more stress, when Sara's procedure was happening tomorrow. He probably wanted to be with her right now.

"Why don't you go home?" Averil suggested. "She'd probably like to see you before she goes in tomorrow."

"I don't want to leave you."

"It's not like I'm going anywhere," Averil said.

That flash of doubt in Lee's eyes _hurt_. Averil had been feeling like a failure ever since he'd dealt with that first rush of memory after waking up. He'd let Lee down terribly, even if the reasons why had been slow in coming to him. He didn't think he'd meant to leave Lee in the dark about where he was for so long. It had only been because he didn't remember who Lee was that he hadn't contacted him. But his choice, necessary as it had felt back then, had seemed more and more selfish with every moment. Why had he ever wanted to forget Lee?

Averil bit back his own hurt and tried to do the selfless thing for once. It was his brother, after all. He tamped down his pride and admitted to himself that he'd hurt Lee terribly with what he'd done, and that Lee didn't have a reason to trust him anymore.

"Hey," he said softly. "Come here. I can't . . ." He waggled the fingers of his good hand, and Lee walked around the bed so Averil could take his hand for a moment. It seemed like a childish gesture and one that should be embarrassing at this age, but he didn't care**.** "I'm sorry, Lee. I'm really, really sorry. But believe me. I'm not going anywhere, not this time. I missed you, even when I didn't know what I was missing. I won't forget you again, not ever."

Lee was just blinking in surprise. "You've changed, too, little brother," he said quietly.

"Who're you calling little, shorty?" Averil growled, making Lee chuckle a little. It was their old joke, with Averil being a few minutes younger and a few inches taller. "Go ahead, get out of here and take care of your girlfriend."

"She's not really my—"

"Yeah, yeah," Averil said patronizingly. Everybody knew better, even him.

"I'll be back—um—"

"I know you'll be with her for a few days," Averil assured him. "It's okay. Come visit me if you can, but not if you have other things to do. I'm sort of hoping we'll all still pass sophomore year, somehow."

"Grandfather talked to the school. They're arranging a make-up schedule for you," Zack said as he re-entered the room.

"Oh, that's good," Averil said in relief. Their school had some pretty high standards and there was no _way_ he was going to be caught up and ready for exams in just a week. He'd be lucky if he could sit up without crying in a week. It wouldn't be so bad if it was just his broken leg and arm, but the broken collarbone and the stitches in his back were just the tiniest bit restricting. "What about you, Lee?"

"Sara's already arranged to do summer school, if she can. I tried to get my exams delayed, but no such luck," Lee sighed. "I have to take them on time next week."

"Why?"

"I'm not the one who's sick or in the hospital. The teachers all sympathize with me, but they've got rules to follow. It was everything Mr. Durham could do to make sure I wouldn't get in trouble for missing class this past week."

"Lee . . ."

"I'll be fine," Lee said dismissively. "My work has been really understanding and they're letting me use up my vacation time next week so I can focus on school. I've spent so much time tutoring my friend Rob that I've got most of the material down cold already."

"If you say so. But you'd better study this weekend!"

"I will," Lee laughed. "When I'm not with Sara, anyway. You sure you'll be alright?"

Zack inclined his head a little, as if to remind Lee that Averil would not be alone. Averil noticed he hadn't said anything about making up his own class work that he'd missed while he'd been here.

"I'll be fine. Speaking of Sara, please tell her I'm thinking of her and I miss her, okay?"

"Okay. Bye, Ril. I'll come back as soon as I can."

"Don't worry about it. See you."

After he was gone, Zack sat down in his customary place. They were both quiet for a minute.

"Do you want to watch TV?"

"No," Averil said automatically, lost in his thoughts. He'd started remembering something earlier, when Lee had been talking about Finn, and he was trying to get it all sorted out. It was something that had been bubbling slowly to the surface, and now he thought he was finally getting it straight in his mind. And he was happy. He was so glad to remember this, and he knew that telling Zack was going to make him lose his stoicism for a minute and maybe even smile or something.

"Zack."

"Nhn?"

"I remembered something really important."

"Mmm."

"I remembered what I was doing that day. Sort of. It's weird. I know that I was in your neighbourhood on purpose, but I don't think I remember why, exactly. I remember looking at Yvonne's shop. I just can't remember if I was looking for Yvonne, or if I was just looking for her house for some reason. Because if I was looking for her, why wouldn't I have just gone to the office at the apartments, right? I don't know. But anyway, that's not really what I wanted to tell you."

"Then what is it?"

Averil beamed at him. "I wasn't trying to kill myself."

"What?"

"I didn't do it on purpose."

"You mean the car?"

"Yeah," he said, feeling slightly giddy with the relief washing through him at his knowledge. "I was so distracted about getting there, to that address, that I just forgot to look before I crossed the street. You know, that thing you learn in kindergarten? So I just didn't notice the car. I'm really stupid, but I'm not suicidal!"

Zack frowned at him, which _really_ dampened his enthusiasm and did not endear Zack to him at all.

"What?"

"You were really depressed after that. You at least thought you were capable of suicide."

"I guess . . ."

"So even if you didn't get hit by the car on purpose . . . You might have been suicidal anyway."

"Do you _always_ have to kill my good moods?" he groused. "Here I was, being all happy that I'm not crazy, and you're trying to convince me I'm crazy anyway. You suck."

"Am I wrong?"

Averil glared at him. "You suck," he said again.

Zack closed his mouth and started doing his favourite activity of just looking at him.

"You really, really suck," Averil said, feeling his throat getting tight. Miraculously, it wasn't a panic attack or asthma—or perhaps not so miraculous, considering the drugs pumping through his system. But that meant he was getting choked up with tears, which he was totally not going to do in front of Zack.

Whoops, maybe he was. He felt a tear slide down his cheek, and it would be pointless to wipe it away or pretend it didn't exist when Zack had already seen it.

"It's good, though," Zack said at last. "You were having those kind of thoughts, but you didn't decide to carry them out. That is good."

"You could have just said that first," Averil muttered, now upset not only that Zack was a jerk but that he'd seen him cry for a second.

Then Zack surprised him. "Sorry," he said quietly. "I'm not good at this."

"Not good at what?"

"Talking to you."

Averil gaped at him. "You . . . Huh. That's okay, I guess, I'm not very good at talking to you, either."

"I noticed."

"So we're just going to go around hurting each other's feelings and pissing each other off forever, apparently," Averil sighed.

"Yup," Zack agreed.

"Sorry in advance, I guess."

"Yeah."

They just looked at each other for a minute.

"You don't _really_ suck," Averil offered. "Only sometimes."

Zack actually, at last, smiled. "I wish I could say the same, but you're always an idiot."

"HEY!" Averil shouted, then grimaced and raised his good hand to his shoulder. He hadn't known that shouting was going to set off pain in his stupid collarbone. Zack leaned forward immediately, ready to help. "Oh, relax, it's nothing."

Zack leaned back again, but his eyes had changed from teasing to worried.

"You really were afraid that I was going to die, weren't you?" Averil blurted out. He immediately hated himself for saying it, and _damn _that guy Gray for making him think about all this from Zack's perspective. If he saw that guy again, he was going to _murder_ him for ruining the delicate balance Averil had been pretending was working.

"There was a lot of blood," Zack said quietly. "And when I was wrapping the cuts, you were s-s-screaming. You couldn't b-breathe. I thought you wouldn't b-b-be able to hold out for the paramedics." He did another weird thing—he broke eye contact and turned his head away a little. He never did that, he never hid from Averil. He seemed embarrassed, and that was weird, because Zack was never embarrassed about anything. What was it?

"Do you think you're always going to stutter when you talk about this?"

Zack clenched his jaw and didn't look up.

Averil felt a burst of pure and unadulterated affection for the person in front of him, which shocked him beyond belief. But since he was already learning this habit of thinking about things in terms of what Zack might feel about them, he just ran with it. He'd almost died a few days ago, and after everything he'd been through in the past few months, it was about time he stopped restricting his own freaking thoughts. He couldn't tell if Zack was actually embarrassed or if he just didn't like thinking about the whole incident. Either way, it was coming to Averil just how ridiculously important he was to Zack. He didn't really want to think about that, but why _wouldn't_ he feel affection for someone who was so fixated on him?

"We don't have to talk about it, then."

Zack finally looked at him again.

Averil was blushing so badly that his face felt like it was going to melt.

"I mean, I know it's not exactly something we're going to look back on fondly, anyway," he said. "So once I get out of here, we just won't talk about it."

Zack was taking too long to mull over his response.

"But if it's just that you're embarrassed—you know, about your stutter coming back—you, um, don't worry about it. I actually think it's kinda—" _What am I __doing__, I can't say that, that is so freaking __gay__._

"What?" Zack drawled, with maybe just the tiniest hint of pink coming into his own cheeks, which Averil stared at in fascination. He had never seen Zack blush, not once. Speaking of things that are—

"Kinda cute," he blurted out. _Oh god oh god oh god, I'm so gay, I can't believe I just said that, what is __wrong__ with me?_

Zack stared at him for a minute. Then he smirked. "What do you think of my legs?"

"You are an evil bastard," Averil groaned, trying to turn away from him and being hindered by crippling pain all over the place. "Oh, _ow_," he whimpered.

Zack immediately dropped it and leaned over him. "Should I call the nurse? Do you need more medicine?"

"No," he ground out. "I need my collarbone to not be broken and people to not be making embarrassing jokes at my expense. Sunny _is_ beautiful, dammit. And nice, and sweet, and caring, and smart, and a great friend."

"And?"

"And I don't need her to be here with me right now," Averil sighed.

"You . . . need me?"

"Apparently."

Zack sat back down.

"God, this is weird," Averil muttered.

"Neither of us is very normal," Zack pointed out.

"Some of us more than others," Averil shot back. He found himself blinking heavily. His IV must have released a dose of pain medicine without him realizing it.

"Are you tired?"

"It's the stupid drugs," Averil mumbled, blinking rapidly and trying to fight it off. They were having an important conversation, weren't they? What were they talking about . . .?

"Give me your glasses."

"I can't see without them," Averil said dreamily.

"I'll tell you if there's anything you should see."

"Oh, okay." He handed his glasses over and wished he could pull the blankets up but unfortunately his arms didn't seem to work anymore. "S'cold."

Someone pulled the blankets up for him. Zack. That was something Zack would do. But he couldn't say thank you to Zack, that would be giving in . . .

* * *

_May 21__st_

"I'm so glad they let you stay with me," Sara said softly, clinging to Lee's hand. "I was afraid you wouldn't get to be here."

"I guess they figured I should be allowed, since it's my marrow they're putting in there," Lee quipped, sitting down on the edge of the hospital bed where she was waiting. "I won't get to be here for all of it," he said regretfully, lacing his fingers through hers. "I wish I could, but you'll be here for a few days, and—"

"I know," she said, twining her fingers through his comfortably. He'd never seen her look so weak and frail in body, but she was smiling at him and her spirits seemed strong. "That's okay. I'll probably just sleep most of the time, anyway. I just really wanted you here when everything started. You've been fighting right beside me through all this, and . . . I just feel like if you're here with me, then everything will be all right."

"It will," he said with assurance. "Even Ril said so, and you know how pessimistic he is."

Sara couldn't help laughing at that. "How is he?"

"He's still in a lot of pain, but his spirits are surprisingly good. I wish I could be in two places at once so I could be with both of you."

"His friend is there with him, though, isn't he?"

Lee looked down at their intertwined fingers instead of at her beloved, wan face. "Yeah."

"Lee?"

"I don't like it, Sara," he said darkly. "You know how Ril is. He acts so tough, but he's so compassionate and so lonely. I don't know anything about this guy."

"Lee," she said reprovingly, giving his hand a squeeze. "That's just it. You don't know him, so you shouldn't automatically think the worst of him. I'm surprised at you. You usually like to give people a chance."

"I know."

"He's giving up a lot to be there for Ril. I think that says good things about him."

"I'll try to be nice," he said. He sort of meant it. He looked up to see Tom and Yuri walking in with Sara's normal doctor and with Anthony, who was going to be observing the procedure. "Looks like it's time for you to go," he said, not letting go of her hand.

"Yes. I don't mind if you leave to go be with Ril. I'm just happy that I got a few minutes with you first."

"Me, too."

"Everything will really be alright."

Lee stopped caring about their approaching audience. With their hands still linked, he bent over and placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

"I will be here no matter what."

"I know."

They looked up at Tom, whose face was a blank mask that concealed whatever he might have thought about that—extremely _innocent_—kiss.

"You ready, monster?"

"I am now," she said cheekily. Lee held back his laughter and his urge to kiss her again. He hadn't seen her this upbeat in quite a while, and it was so great to see it. She really was believing that his bone marrow was going to be what she needed, and he'd been reinforcing her belief so much that he was starting to think so, too.

He stuck around with Tom and Yuri for a few minutes, letting them know how positive she was feeling and assuring them that he would try to be here to help out whenever possible. But he was anxious to go be with Ril again. He only had so much time this weekend before he had to go waste a whole week on school. He was practically bouncing in his seat on the bus the whole way, wanting to just be there already. He could tell Sara that he'd try, but he was too protective of his twin to have anything but suspicion regarding Zack.

* * *

Meeting Ian and Gray made for an interesting morning. Zack could see why it had been so memorable for Averil—they were complicated people. Gray had admitted that the reason he was concerned about Averil's well-being was that he'd feel really discouraged if his first conversation with another teenager had ended with said teenager being dead.

It had gotten _really_ interesting when Gray had looked at Zack and asked Averil if he was the guy. Averil had flushed deeply and muttered something incoherent and probably offensive. Ian had asked what they were talking about. Gray said that Ian was his version of however Zack defined himself for Averil.

Rather than lose his cool over it, Ian had just laughed a little and stretched back in his seat and ruffled Gray's hair.

"I really hope your road isn't as rough as ours has been," he said, but he shook his head with amusement. "You ain't off to a great start, here."

That he and Averil had a "road" was news to Zack, but it was still intriguing to have these two present—they'd been together for quite a while, had gotten comfortable with their roles in each other's lives, had learned to put aside their pride when necessary for the other's sake. They admitted that they had spent a lot of the last three years fighting in just about every way possible, but they seemed fairly settled now.

Luckily, Averil was either just as curious about how they made it work as Zack was, or he had somehow observed Zack's curiosity and indulged it. Averil asked all the questions, letting Zack do as he preferred to do and sit quietly to one side.

That, more than anything, was what had Zack basking in the glow of what had been happening since yesterday. Averil was acting like they had a road. He'd been the one, yesterday, to say that they'd get on each other's nerves "forever." He did have some concerns about whether Averil might be doing this out of a misguided sense of gratitude, but they apparently had lots of time to work on that. Zack entertained his private hope that Averil was just finally responding to the way Zack treated him. He'd gone on doggedly for months without changing no matter how much abuse Averil had hurled at him—he was completely incapable of doing anything different.

What Ian was saying was resonating with him, the way he said it had never been about being attracted to Gray or anything, that he had never considered their relationship in terms of how anyone else would define it. That he had just locked gazes with him and had never been able to look away. That was exactly how it was. Zack hadn't seen Averil get hit by a car and suddenly thought of him as attractive or a romantic interest. He remembered it precisely, down to the way his breath had turned to steam in the cold air. Averil had looked up at him, both the good eye and the blind eye fixed on him, and whimpered out "I don't remember my name." Zack had felt it, like an arrow shot through him, reaching some part of himself that he hadn't known existed. When it struck its target, he'd known right then that he was never going to let this boy out of his sight for the rest of his life. Everything since then had been nothing but working out the boundaries that made the dark-haired enigma happy.

Averil had made Zack well aware that he was bad at communicating his emotions, but he hoped that they could tell he was happy right now. Not only was there someone else in the world who had gone through this, but Averil cared about it and was asking them about it. His boundaries were changing, it seemed. Maybe Zack's were, too. He'd never cared if Averil wanted to be with Sunny, except insofar as there was a possibility of her accidentally hurting him—but now it had happened, and that, as well as the conversations they'd been having for the past couple of days, had Zack thinking that it would be okay if Averil and Sunny spontaneously decided not to be friends anymore.

It kind of put a damper on the whole thing when Lee walked in, stopped in surprise, and said, "Oh. Um, hello."

Averil, of course, welcomed the sight of his twin brother, as he had every right to do. "Hey, Lee. Come in. This is Ian and Gray. Gray's the one who helped Finn and Caleb figure out where I was."

"I see," Lee said. "In that case, it's _great_ to meet you. Thank you so much."

"Uh, no problem, I guess," Gray said, making a joke out of it. "Anytime?"

"God, let's hope nothing like this ever happens again," Lee muttered.

"I second that," Averil answered. "How's Sara?"

"Good, I think," Lee said, his face brightening. "She was acting really hopeful this morning. This procedure is _going_ to work."

Zack found it hard to maintain a cool distance from Lee when the guy said stuff like that. It was hard not to like somebody who was so in love with and committed to the person in his life. But he couldn't let himself think of Lee as a great guy, not yet. They needed to have a conversation first. It probably wouldn't be that pleasant, and Zack had been reluctant to either leave Averil alone or try to start this in his room while he was asleep. But now that Ian and Gray were here to stay with him . . .

"We'd better get going pretty soon," Ian said. "We're supposed to be helping get the house ready for a big to-do tonight. Apparently, that brat that married my sister passed all his classes and gets to graduate from law school. But he still has to pass the bar exam," Ian said with a slightly predatory smile.

"You guys probably want a couple more minutes to talk to Averil," Zack said soberly, standing up and looking at Ian very deliberately. "Lee and I can take a walk."

"Uh, yeah, so we can talk about that thing . . ." Ian said in his best effort to be helpful without knowing what the hell was going on.

Lee did not look thrilled to be ushered out of the room again, nor to be following Zack down the hall.

"What's all that about?" he frowned.

"I needed to talk to you," Zack answered calmly. No matter how this conversation went, he reminded himself, there was no way to remove that arrow. Averil's importance to him was not going to change.

"About what?"

"About why you don't like me."

* * *

_**A/N**__: Again with the obsessive fact-checking. I am so weird. I went to the website for "All My Children" and looked up the recap of the show on the proper date. I didn't make that up; there actually is a character named Bailey who told Damon on the 19__th__ of May that he's not Stuart's real dad . . . I think I broke my brain._

_I realize that I have, once again, failed to respond to your comments on the previous chapter. But hey, I almost finished writing this damn thing. There are going to be 26 chapters, and 24 of them are complete. If I get the last 2 chapters finished up quickly enough, I may even be nice and not make you wait for them. We shall see!_

_Lastly, I don't know if any of you care, but the new Harry Potter movie is way better than the sixth one was. Hooray!  
_


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

_May 21st_

Lee came to an abrupt halt. Zack quelled his irritation—he'd thought that walking would keep things from getting too tense—and ambled to a stop as well.

"What do you mean? I never said I don't like you."

Zack was disappointed. He'd expected better from Lee than passive-aggressive bullshitting.

"Look, I haven't even made up my mind about you, all right?" Lee mumbled after a moment of enduring Zack's stare. This was one of those times he enjoyed being taciturn and using a flat look to communicate. "If you look at this from my perspective, it's kind of hard to swallow, you know?"

Zack didn't deem that to be a question needing a response. It wasn't time yet. Lee would talk for a while before Zack needed to say anything. Most people were like that.

"I mean, he went missing for _months_, and I didn't know what I did wrong. Then he finally turns up, and he's in the _hospital_, and when I get to the hospital, _you're_ telling me my twin brother doesn't remember me and that he's living in your _room_." Lee shoved his hands in his pockets and glared down at his feet. "You've been here with him even more than I have," he said accusingly.

"So. That's a bad thing?"

"I don't know," Lee growled. "Maybe not, but the whole situation is odd, okay? You just took in this screwed-up kid off the street and let him live with you and didn't even try to figure out where he came from."

"Isn't that what your roommates did for you?"

There. Lee finally looked like he was taking Zack seriously.

"So, that's all he is to you? Just a roommate?"

Zack shrugged a little. "Depends on how you define roommates, I guess," he said slyly. Since they were talking about Lee's roommates . . .

Lee looked up with his eyes flashing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Zack realized then that he was being an idiot. He very rarely let his pride get the better of him, especially not where Averil was concerned. He'd had to set his pride completely aside when Averil had come into his life, because it never would have survived the beating it would have taken. There was no reason to drag it back out now.

"I apologize," he said calmly. "I didn't mean anything by that. What are you really trying to ask me?"

"Look, it's just that I get really worried about Ril. He puts up all these walls, but it's not hard to see how lonely he gets. And he really does want everyone to like him. Even when he loses his temper or runs away, he's sort of desperate to be liked. The thing is, you're really hard to read."

"So what are you asking?"

Lee took a deep breath. "If you're using Ril. If you're . . ." A red flush was spreading over his cheeks. "You know . . ."

"You—you think he's . . . what? Putting out for my approval?" Zack asked in disbelief.

Lee said nothing, just went even more red.

_Fuck my pride. This is about Averil._

Zack had never really lost his temper. But he did try to make it obvious to people when he'd reached his limit of tolerance, and Lee clearly needed to know what was acceptable and what wasn't. He took an unhurried step forward and delivered a solid blow to Lee's jaw.

"Don't say that about him," he warned.

Lee rubbed his jaw in shock, then he leapt forward to return the punch, aiming for Zack's face but only clipping his ear. Wow. He hadn't expected that to hurt quite so much. In fact, he'd expected that a little guy like Lee would be knocked flat on his ass by that punch, but he was hiding a lot of strength in his small frame.

Zack was ready to defend himself, but Lee immediately dropped his hands and took a few steps back.

"I'm sorry."

Zack was a bit confused, but he took that as a good sign and let himself relax a little.

"That was wrong," Lee mumbled. "I shouldn't have even hit you back, because you're right. I deserved that. I just . . ."

"You've been worried about him for four months, and it hasn't sunk in that he's okay."

Lee looked startled, but then he chuckled in a rather bitter way. "He's not exactly okay, though, is he?"

"No, he's nuts," Zack said. "I'm getting used to it."

Lee laughed for real, but it was short-lived and his face became pensive. They just looked each other in the eyes for a few seconds that felt like a year, then Lee's face started turning red.

"So, uh, what I guess I was trying to ask . . . Uh . . ." Lee shook his head. "Forget it."

"What?" Zack had known at the outset of this conversation what Lee wanted to ask, but he figured it was probably good for the other guy to work it out for himself.

"What exactly are your intentions?"

"To be with him," Zack responded promptly.

"Uh . . ." Lee should really get over his propensity to blush every time he talked about people's relationships. "In what way?"

"Don't care."

"You don't?"

"It's up to him."

"So you guys aren't, you know, dating or something?"

"Not at the moment."

"Right. But you might?"

"You'd have to ask him," Zack said, and decided to start walking again. They should go back to Averil's room soon, the other two guys probably wanted to leave. He felt comfortable with the idea of leaving everything up to Averil. It made more sense that way. Lee was looking at him like he was the crazy one. Well, maybe he was. He was basically letting someone else decide his sexual orientation.

"I think it's more important for us to figure out what I did to make him feel like he had to run away and go kill himself. We can talk about who he wants to date later."

Zack decided he really did like Lee. It wasn't just his quiet acceptance that his twin brother might be gay, it was the outlook on life he'd just revealed. He wasn't content to be reunited with his brother, he wanted to fix the problems that had driven them apart, and that was more important to him than what was going on between Zack and Averil.

"Okay," Zack said, and led the way to Averil's room.

"Just . . . There's one other thing that I kind of feel obligated to say."

Zack lifted his eyebrow.

"You ever hurt him and I'll kill you."

Zack stared at him for a moment. "Feel better?"

"No, that was dumb. But I'm not really joking, either. Don't hurt my brother."

"I try not to." They were stopped outside Averil's door, and he could hear that Averil was still talking to one of the guys. He didn't go in, because he wanted to point out how unjust that warning was. "I know most people are surprised that I actually have feelings, but your brother holds a record for being the only person who's able to hurt them more than my parents did."

"Oh," Lee sort of stammered.

"I'm just saying, it's more likely to be his fault."

Lee looked like he wanted to punch him again.

"You worry too much," Zack informed him, and ambled in.

To his surprise, it wasn't Gray and Ian in the room with Averil anymore, it was Mike. He turned around with a panicked look of guilt in his eyes, and Averil was clearly upset about something. What were they talking about?

"Oh, hi guys!" Mike said cheerfully, immediately disguising it. "I just came by to say hello to Averil. Auntie is wasting away without him, you know. I'd love to stay and chat, but I actually have to take my sister to the dentist today. Just wanted to check on the patient. It was nice seeing you!"

He bounced out of the room before Lee or Zack could recover from the barrage enough to say anything. Zack frowned at Averil, who had smoothed his face out and was pretending everything was fine.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing."

Zack looked at him.

"Nothing I want to talk about right now," he revised.

Zack did not like that, but at least Averil was communicating with him instead of blowing up at him and yelling that it was none of his business. He and Lee moved to their usual seats on either side of Averil, and it suddenly occurred to him to wonder why Lee sat on Averil's blind side. He'd noticed immediately that Lee was blind in the same eye, so Lee more than anyone should know why that would be irritating. But he thought he understood, now. This wasn't a new thing. Lee had always done this. If Averil couldn't see very well on his right side, then that was the side that needed guarding.

Which begged the question: who stood on Lee's right side?

"Hey," Averil said, sounding sleepy. "Not to change the subject or anything, but can you bring me my school stuff? I need to study." He frowned, seeming confused.

"Are you okay?" Lee asked anxiously.

"Just . . . medicine . . ." Averil slurred. "Sorry. I have to sleep now. But don't go, okay? You guys should . . . talk . . . get to know . . . Sorry . . ."

When his eyes closed, Zack took his glasses and set them aside, then he and Lee regarded each other.

"You could tell me about Sara," he said.

It was weird how much it transformed Lee just to talk about her.

* * *

"Hi, Averil!" Mike called from the doorway, interrupting Gray right in the middle of saying something. "Hello, Averil's friends!"

"Hi," Gray said, startled. He looked at Averil for an explanation. He was probably too shy to initiate an introduction on his own, Averil figured. He was already sort of unconsciously shrinking closer to Ian.

"This is Mike, Yvonne's nephew. Mike, this is Ian and Gray."

"Ooo, you guys!" Mike said cheerfully. "You're famous!"

"How's that?" Ian drawled.

"You got Lee and Averil back together! You're the talk of the neighbourhood! Well, not the whole neighbourhood. Actually, Auntie just likes to gossip so she went over and got the story from Dovie and then she and Harold smoked and had tea so they could pretend they weren't gossiping."

"I see," Ian said slowly, trying to take Mike in. "Well, speaking of Dovie, we'd better run."

"Yeah. Um, thank you," Averil said, trying not to sound as embarrassed as he felt. These guys had really put themselves out there for his sake today, and he didn't want to seem ungrateful even if he was ridiculously uncomfortable. "I guess thank you from Zack, too . . ." No. No, they were _so_ not at the point where he could speak for Zack.

"We'll see you around, kid. Hurry up and get better so you can get out of this dump," Ian said.

"I'm glad you're okay," Gray added quietly. "Bye."

Averil waved a little as they left, and Mike said a very cheerful goodbye, undaunted by the fact that he did not know them at all. But when he rounded on Averil, his face was sober. It was a very odd look on Mike.

"Are you alone today?"

"No. Lee and Zack should be back any minute."

"I'll get straight to the point, then," Mike said. He didn't even sit down. "Yvonne doesn't know I'm here. She wouldn't want me to say anything to you, but I . . ."

"You're scaring me, Mike," Averil quipped. "I didn't even know you were capable of being serious."

"I don't really like to be," Mike said, smiling a little and shrugging. "It's no fun. But, um, the thing is . . . Have I ever told you Yvonne's not really my aunt?"

"No," Averil said in shock.

"She kind of raised us, I mean me and Molly, but we're not actually related. And some things are starting to add up to me that are a little . . . I don't think I can tell you what I'm thinking, not yet. Auntie's been weird about you the whole time, that's the thing. When you started working for her, she wouldn't let me tell Molly anything about you. If I'd told her, we would have figured out that you were Lee's missing brother right away, see? I think she meant well, I really do. She wanted you to have the chance to figure things out on your own. It was good for you to learn to stand on your own, right?"

Mike seemed so anxious and upset that Averil heroically managed not to start screaming. _It's not Mike's fault_, he told himself. _But I will __kill__ her._

"Um, but that's not the whole story, I don't think."

"It's not?" Averil said through clenched teeth.

"I just . . . She's so _sad_ sometimes, when she looks at you. You probably haven't noticed, because it's hard to tell when she's sad, but it makes me think there's something bigger than that. I just— I needed to ask you something. That's why I'm here. To ask you something."

"Okay," Averil said weakly. His mind was reeling in shock so badly that he couldn't even gather himself together enough to be upset. He'd be upset later, when this sunk in.

"Do you remember why you were in our neighbourhood that day?"

Averil shook his head. "No. I've tried, but that part won't come back to me. It's weird, though. Every time I try to remember, I end up thinking about my dad."

Mike went pale. "I see."

"Mike, I am really freaking out right now, and I am really confused. Tell me what's going on. What is Yvonne trying to do?"

"I don't know," he whispered. "But she can't evade me forever. I'll find out."

Lee and Zack chose that moment to come back, and Averil experienced a sense of panic. He didn't want to start the two of them worrying, not when Mike was being so secretive. They were both ridiculously overprotective of him—who knew what they'd do to Mike to make him spill it? Averil liked Mike, annoying as he could be. He was obviously struggling to do the right thing**,** here.

So when Zack asked, Averil told him it was nothing.

But it wasn't nothing. "Nothing" wouldn't have Mike acting like this. The idea that Yvonne had purposefully hidden Averil from Lee wasn't the part that had him so freaked out, either. He'd discovered months ago that Yvonne already knew him, and she'd already told him that it was up to him to figure himself out. While her deception went a little deeper than he'd realized, it wasn't that surprising and he was even a tiny bit grateful that he'd had the time to grow. But to hear Mike say that it made Yvonne sad to look at him— To think about coming to her neighbourhood and start thinking about his father— None of that made sense and it was deeply disturbing.

He already had enough on his mind. He just didn't need this right now. Yvonne wasn't going anywhere, she could wait until after he passed his finals.

* * *

"Great party, sis," Ian said, kissing Dovie on the cheek as he stole the tray full of leftovers from her hands and carried it to the kitchen for her.

"Is Gray okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, he'll be fine."

Gray had gotten a little overwhelmed by the company and had retreated into the bedroom about halfway through the party, but he'd assured Ian that he was fine and told him to enjoy himself. He'd emerged about five minutes ago to help them clean up.

Gray was in the kitchen getting a trash bag from the drawer by the sink. "I'm fine," he said, a tight smile on his face giving lie to his words. Ian knew he wasn't anxious anymore, now it was just that he was mad at himself. He followed Gray into the living room to collect trash with him.

"Don't beat yourself up," Ian said quietly.

"It's either me or you," Gray said grumpily.

"You can beat me up, that's fine."

Gray rolled his eyes and sort of flung an empty wine bottle into the bag. "I don't like being pathetic."

"You're not pathetic," Ian said, deciding to take this easy and keep collecting trash instead of wrapping Gray in his arms like he wanted to. He couldn't treat every occurrence like it was the end of the world. At some point, they had to start behaving like this was fairly normal and something they'd get through and move on from. "You were out here with a bunch of people you didn't know for a good hour before you had to leave."

"I was?" Gray asked in surprise.

"Yup," Ian confirmed. "You beat my expectations by forty-five minutes."

Gray made a sour face at him. "You have such faith in me," he said sarcastically.

"Yes, I do," Ian responded. "You did great, Gray Eyes. You should be proud of yourself."

Gray actually smiled. "I guess so."

In the kitchen, Alex rolled his eyes while he helped Dovie wrap up the leftover food. "They're both pathetic," he muttered. "I can't handle this much sappiness in my house."

Dovie flicked his arm. "Be nice."

"I am nice," Alex said promptly, which made Dovie laugh.

"You have a heart of gold, husband, but you are one of the most irritable people in the world."

"I know," he said with a crooked grin. "I didn't even think I _had_ twenty friends to invite over. Why do you all put up with me?"

"Because you're cute," Dovie said sweetly, leaning in for a kiss. "Speaking of friends, it was nice to see Anthony, he hasn't been around in forever."

"I hope you don't miss him too much," Alex grumbled.

"We weren't even going out," Dovie said, exasperated at having to explain this again. "You were so busy sulking and being rude to me that he and I had to start spending time with each other instead of you."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Anyway, all must be forgiven since you two were gossiping like girlfriends half the night."

Alex shrugged. "He's still my best friend, even if he did try to steal you from me."

Dovie just flicked him again. "It's real nice that he's going to be working with those kids, isn't it?"

"You mean that girl with cancer?"

"Her name's Sara, not 'the girl with cancer,'" Dovie scolded him. "Yes, her."

"How did he end up taking her case?"

"It's because he's so kind. Her older brother was impressed with his bedside manner, thought Sara got along with him real well. I guess part of the reason this has been so hard on her was that her doctor was kind of cold and snippy. Obviously Anthony can't totally take over because he's not qualified yet, but he's going to work with them from here on. Sara's still got a long road ahead of her, and her brother thought it made sense to have someone she felt comfortable with. Her and Lee, both, actually. He said Lee seemed to trust him more than any of the other doctors. I can't believe you managed not to find any of this out while you were talking. Do boys seriously avoid _any_ topic that might even _conceivably_ lead to talking about someone's emotions?"

"Yes," Alex said decisively. "Right up until one of us is about to explode. And sometimes even then."

Dovie sighed and shook her head. "Well, I guess that's what you have me for."

"I have you for kissing," he said, and proved it.

"Lord almighty, do you two _have_ to do that when I'm here?" Ian growled from the doorway, a sack of garbage in his hands.

Alex took his time relinquishing her. "Yep. Sorry."

Ian gave Gray a calculating look, but Gray glared up at him. "If you kiss me, I'm going to hurt you," he said plainly.

Ian chuckled. "Scary how he's started to read my mind," he drawled. He hadn't _really_ wanted to kiss Gray just to retaliate—if he ever did want to kiss Gray, it ought to be for something a little more important—but he had a brotherly duty to antagonize Alex once in a while.

"You know, you _did_ say you guys came out here because you had some good news for us," Dovie said suddenly. "We just finished having a celebratory party, so this seems like a good moment. Out with it, brother. You've been about to burst for days."

Ian grinned. "I guess everybody can read my mind."

"It's like reading a kids' picture book," Alex muttered. "Practically nothing in there."

Ian didn't even bother responding, although Gray did bristle at that. He still hadn't gotten over his upset about people not taking Ian seriously. Which was why Ian had this news. He'd listened to Gray and he'd decided that Gray was right, to some extent. Ian didn't really care what anyone else thought of him, but he also didn't want to spend the rest of his life sweating it out in Brian's bakery.

"I'm going back to school," he announced.

"You are?" Dovie squealed. She launched herself forward to hug him and practically knocked him over. "Ian, that's _wonderful_!"

"Thanks, Pigeon." He hugged her hard, happy that she was happy. It was hard to tell when Dovie was worried because she was so cheerful all the time, but he knew she'd been just as concerned as Gray about the direction of his life. Gray himself was completely silent at the news.

"But do you have enough money?" she asked, looking up at him guilelessly. "I know you haven't been making much at your job."

Ian didn't know how anyone was going to react to this part, but there was no point to trying to keep it a secret from them.

"Actually, I talked to Daddy."

Gray stiffened and Alex's face looked like a thundercloud. Dovie just looked sad. She laid her cheek against his chest and let him keep hugging her.

"He agreed to pay my tuition."

"He did?" Gray goggled. He was only too aware that he was the reason Ian had broken ties with his father—he'd been there to hear the shouting matches over the phone. Part of the guilt he'd struggled with was knowing that Ian had never had to worry about money until he made Gray's schooling a priority over his own.

"Well, this _is_ Daddy," Ian drawled. "He wasn't very happy about it. He said I have to maintain a 3.5 GPA or he'll cut me off again. But, you know, I think he's started to regret being such an enormous ass. He actually asked me about Gray. I told him how well you're doing," he said, looking at Gray, "and he actually said he was glad."

Gray didn't seem to have anything to say to that.

"He must be lonely," Dovie murmured, still clinging to him. "He must be so lonely without us."

"It's his own damn fault," Alex snapped.

Ian didn't really appreciate anyone but himself talking bad about their father, but he supposed Alex had the right. He'd been screwed over pretty badly and it was practically a miracle that he and Dovie had ended up together after all.

"He wanted nothing but the best for us," she said. "He just couldn't hear us telling him what we thought the best might be."

Ian snorted. "That's a real polite way of saying he's got a god complex." He petted her hair a little, knowing that Alex wouldn't understand why she regretted the way things turned out and that she needed someone to understand. He was still their father. "But I think you're right that he's lonely. Mind you, I'm not about to go running home to fix that for him. But maybe it's something."

"Did Daddy say anything about me?"

"He wasn't about to tell me so, but I can tell he misses you. He asked how you're doing. I told him you and Alex want to try for a baby soon."

"What— what did he say?"

"Nothing. He hung up then."

"Oh."

Ian looked at Alex, even though he was technically talking to Dovie. "Do you want your kids to know their grandfather?"

Alex's expression said that he'd rather eat crap, but he looked at Dovie being cradled by her brother and his eyes softened.

"I'd like that," she admitted. "But Alex and I have to talk about that."

"Yeah, I figured. That old bastard is so stubborn, he'd _like_ Alex if he could open his eyes." Now he made sure he _wasn't_ looking at Alex. Not while he was admitting the guy might actually be worthy of her.

"You know, Ian," Dovie said, pulling back a little to look at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "It's too bad you're so far behind. It would have been fun if you and Alex took the bar exam at the same time."

"Oh, didn't I say?" Ian said casually. "I'm not going back to law school."

"What?" Gray and Dovie said at the same time.

"That's why he wasn't all that happy about this. He'd have been overjoyed if I wanted to go back to law school. I'm starting over."

"To do what?" Gray asked with deep suspicion, and Ian suddenly wished that he'd told Gray about this ahead of time and not waited to tell them all together.

"I'm getting a teaching degree."

Gray went stiff. "You're lying." Yep, he definitely should have told him first.

"I never lie to you, Gray Eyes," Ian said soberly. "I told you I'd think about it."

"You could work with me at the kindergarten!" Dovie declared, possibly teasing but possibly not. It was hard to tell with her.

"Uh, I don't think so, Pigeon. I'm aiming for an older group of kids."

Gray started rubbing his arms, and Ian sighed. He took Dovie by the shoulders and steered her over to her husband so that he could grab hold of Gray's hands.

"Quit that. You don't need to worry."

"You want me to go to school," he said accusingly.

Ian looked at Alex and Dovie and raised his eyebrows. They beat a hasty retreat from the room, and Ian reflected briefly on how great the two of them really were. Then he turned his attention to his distraught companion. He'd sort of thought Gray would be happy about this. He hadn't wanted to put pressure on him, at least not right away. But Gray was all too capable of putting pressure on himself, so now they had to deal with it before he ran off or started quoting poetry.

"Eventually, I'd like you to."

"I can't."

"Yes you can. I'm going to help you when you need it, but you're more than capable."

"I don't want to."

"Then don't," Ian said in exasperation.

"You're going."

"Just because I do something doesn't mean you have to. I'd like to think we're beyond that point by now."

Gray relaxed, fractionally. For a moment. Then he tensed up again and spoke with a pained look. "I have a job waiting for me at home."

"I don't think Brian is really relying on either of us, so much," Ian said dryly.

"No. Not that. Instructor Arashi talked to me, right before we left. I'm ready to test for my black belt. And to start teaching the kids' class."

Ian was silent for a moment.

"I think I could do it."

"Yeah, you could. When were you going to mention it to me?"

"I just did," he said stubbornly. "You were keeping something from me, too."

Ian didn't even want to get into why retaliatory secret-keeping was bad for their relationship. "If that's what you want to do, then you ought to. You've been having a great time with Dovie's kids. I think you could be happy teaching that class."

"I could do both," Gray said after a moment of silence.

"Both what?"

"I can have a job and go to school at the same time. Everyone does it. I could."

"You sure you want to? You might want to start with one or the other."

"I want you to be proud of me," he whispered.

"Too late for that," Ian said gruffly. "I already am."

"Maybe I just want _me_ to be proud of me, then. When I talked to Claire Elda, she said I had to do that before I was going to be ready for a real relationship."

"I think you've got plenty of reasons to be proud, but I would never stop you from doing what you want, Gray. I'll be there, either way."

"I know. That's why I think I can do it. I just need you to be there to stop me from beating myself up all the time, okay?"

His voice was very strained-sounding, so Ian opened up his arms. Gray came into them without hesitation. Knowing that Ian wouldn't hold him too tightly, knowing he wouldn't make him feel restricted and held down. Knowing that Ian knew him. It was all he had, and it was enough.

* * *

_May 25__th_

Averil was being released from the hospital today, and the room was thick with tension while they waited for the paperwork to be finished up. Lee and Zack were waiting while Harold was helping Averil read through everything. They'd somehow made it all the way to this day without talking about what was going to happen next. None of them had wanted to be the one to bring it up. Now they had no idea what was about to happen. Lee and Zack weren't even looking at one another.

When Harold wheeled Averil over and declared that they were free to go, all three teenagers ended up looking awkwardly at their own laps.

"What?" Harold asked, mystified.

"Ril, um . . ." Lee took a deep breath. "I didn't know where you wanted to go."

It was like he'd had a bucket of ice dumped over his head. It was obvious what the more logical choice was—he was going to be in a wheelchair for two weeks and the apartment was on the third floor. But he didn't really want to tell his brother right to his face that he didn't want to go home with him. He was incredibly tempted to let them make the decision for him.

He hadn't even considered the idea that Zack and Harold might not want to keep him. They had found his real home, and maybe they'd expected him to go back there. It had become pretty clear while he'd been in the hospital that Zack would like their friendship to continue, but maybe he wanted his room back. He hadn't said anything. Oh, god. Why hadn't they talked about this already?

Harold sighed deeply, which seemed to spur Zack into action.

He glared at Averil. "Why can't you ever just say what you want?"

Averil felt sort of like he'd been slapped. "Oh, that's rich," he shot back. "You first."

Now Zack looked like _he'd_ been slapped.

Averil palmed his face with his good hand. "I thought we were getting better at this," he muttered.

Lee stood up. "You two are so dumb," he said. "Mr. Williams, I think we should leave them alone for a minute."

Harold threw up his hands and followed Lee as he walked away. "I don't know what's gotten into you boys, but I'm missing a very important afternoon nap, here. Work this out so we can go home, would you?"

Averil bit his lip and looked at Zack. "You didn't say anything about it."

Zack was Looking at him. Which could mean, _Of course I didn't because when am I ever the first one to bring something up? _or possibly _Why would I need to because it's obvious where you should go?_

"Well, you should have," Averil said in frustration. "I think we've established that I can't read your mind!"

"I didn't know what you wanted. I didn't want to . . . It's your decision."

"Well, I—" Averil blinked back tears. He _hated_ this. He didn't _want_ to always be fighting with Zack just because he was so afraid to make himself vulnerable. And now it was a thousand times worse because he was stuck in a wheelchair and it made him feel so weak and so small.

"Just say it," Zack demanded. Averil almost blew up at him, but he checked himself. He looked, really _looked_ at Zack and saw a weird uncertainty. He wasn't demanding anything, Averil realized. He was pleading. He was scared, too. With that, Averil's anger dissolved and left him feeling slightly dizzy.

"I want to go home," Averil whispered.

Zack closed his eyes and said, "I'll tell Lee. He'll be happy."

"No, you idiot," he snapped. "With you. _That's_ home."

Zack didn't open his eyes for a moment, and Averil wondered if he hadn't heard him. But when he opened them at last, they were strangely bright. He didn't say anything.

"So let's go," Averil said. "I want to get out of here."

Zack took control of the wheelchair without a word and started pushing him. Lee took one look at the two of them and nodded his acceptance. He'd been expecting it, probably. Averil did feel guilty about what he'd put Lee through, but no one could deny that he was doing much better where he was. Lee had fought so hard to keep them together, though.

"Lee," he said as Lee started walking beside him. "I . . . I'm sorry. You went through hell so we wouldn't be separated, but—"

"Ril," Lee interrupted him, very gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "Don't apologize for getting better. I'm glad."

"You are?"

"How could I not be? You're so much happier now. I couldn't give you what you needed, and they can. I should be the one saying sorry."

"No," he said, reaching up to take his brother's hand. "You don't have anything to apologize for, either. You _don't_, Lee. You didn't do anything wrong. This is just . . . better for me."

Lee squeezed his hand, letting his shoulder go so he wouldn't hurt him.

"Harold?" Averil called out.

Harold turned around. "What?"

"Can—can Lee ride home with us? I want him to see the house."

"Sure he can," Harold said easily. "I wasn't going to let him take the bus home anyway. What do you take me for, boy?"

Averil laughed, and Lee looked happier. But Zack still hadn't said anything.

Harold helped Averil get into the car, and the ride home was filled with Lee and Harold's easy chatter. Averil made a few less-than-brilliant contributions, but he was distracted by Zack's silence. He was worried about what it meant.

When they got to the house, Harold turned around with his eyes sparkling. "Timed it just right," he said.

"Huh?" Averil responded.

Harold pointed to the kindergarten, and Averil craned his head. School was just getting out. And there was Karen making her way to sit on the wall to wait for her grandmother. Averil had been afraid that she'd be worried about him. He loved Harold for thinking about that.

"Hurry up and help me get out."

Karen was standing up on the wall and watching him get out. Harold put the wheelchair beside his door, but Zack was the one who put his arm around Averil's waist and helped him stand up on his good leg and pivot around so Zack could lower him down into the seat. Karen was practically dancing with anxiety, her mouth forming a little 'o.' Averil beckoned to her to come across the street.

"Look both ways!" he called as she climbed off the wall.

Very elaborately and with much rolling of her eyes, she did. Then she dashed toward him, squealing his name. He held up his hand in alarm.

"Whoa, stop."

She skidded to a halt.

"You can't jump on me," he said with a crooked smile. "I'm kind of fragile."

Her eyes filled with tears.

"No, honey, I'm okay," he said in dismay. "You just have to be a little careful, that's all. Come here, okay?"

She took an uncertain step forward. "But Averil," she whimpered. She was confused and frightened by the wheelchair.

Then Zack put his hands under her arms and lifted her up and placed her very carefully in Averil's lap. Averil laughed to reassure her and put his good arm around her.

"See? I just have to be careful so my arm and my leg don't get injured any more."

She delicately poked at the cast on his arm. "This is a really big bandaid."

"It's called a cast, actually." She was such a bright little girl, so he figured she'd like to have the whole explanation. "I fell down really hard, and the bone inside my arm got broken. My arm has to stay very still so the bone can heal, so that's why this is so hard. Feel it?" He tapped his own knuckles on it. She copied him and giggled and squirmed in his lap. _Oh god my collarbone_.

"Your leg, too?" she asked, tapping cautiously at his other cast.

"Yeah, afraid so. That's why I have to be in this chair for a while. I can't use crutches because I hurt this bone up here, too." He brushed his fingers lightly over his collarbone. Karen gasped and drew back abruptly.

"I'm hurting you," she said, covering her mouth with her hands.

"No, you're not."

"I am. I put my head right there. I'm sorry!"

"Karen . . . Will you kiss it to make it feel better, then?"

Like most children, Karen had a deep belief in kissing an injury better. She did so, and it seemed to cheer her up. He was glad she was a compassionate girl who was concerned about others, but he didn't like how much it freaked her out that she'd thought she hurt him. He wondered if it had anything to do with what had happened with her mother.

"Hey!" she said suddenly, and she slid down from his lap and put her hands on her hips. "I forgot I was mad at you."

"Me? Why?"

"Because you didn't tell me Zack's your boyfriend."

"_What?_" he choked out.

"He came over to check on me while you were gone but he was sad. I asked him how come he was sad and he said he was worried about you."

"Well, yeah, but everybody was worried about me, right?"

Karen gave him a disappointed look. "I'm not _dumb_," she objected. "He was different worried. He was _boyfriend_ worried."

"Where does she get this stuff?" Averil asked desperately, but Lee and Harold were too busy snickering to say anything and Zack was looking very studiously at their neighbour's house.

"But if Zack's the boyfriend, what are you called?" she asked him. "Are you the boy-girlfriend?"

"NO! Lee, you stop laughing right NOW! I am not a GIRL!"

Karen patted him on the knee. "I know."

"Actually, kiddo, when they're both boys, they're both just called the boyfriend," Harold informed her through his laughter, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

"We're not _boyfriends_!" Averil shouted.

Karen walked over to Zack and squeezed his hand. "It's okay, I think he's just embarrassed."

Zack looked down at her, opened his mouth, closed it, and then looked back at their neighbour's house.

_I'm__ embarrassed? __He's__ about to have an aneurysm._

A horrible pang went through him when he realized that, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than retreat. Not for him. For Zack. "Can I please just go inside now?" Averil mumbled. "I really, really need drugs."

Lee stopped laughing. "You didn't say you were hurting."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't until now." He turned back to Karen. "I'm sorry, honey. I'll try to come see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," she said. "Will you feel better then?"

"Yeah, I will. I just need to rest for a while. Tell Ruth hello for me."

"Okay!"

"Oh, there she is. You'd better go."

Ruth waved from her car. "Averil! It's wonderful to see you home!"

"Thank you!" he said, tried to wave, then winced. Yeah, still hurt to do that.

Zack grabbed the handles of his wheelchair and brought him over to the porch steps.

"Uh . . . How are we going to do this?" Averil asked, daunted by the stairs.

"I can carry you," Zack said calmly.

Averil ground his teeth for a moment, then lifted his arm. "I guess you'll have to."

Zack lifted him, and Averil tried really, really hard not to think about a groom and a bride and the threshold they were passing over. Figuring anything was better than contemplating that symbolism, he gathered up his courage to speak.

"You're being really quiet and it's freaking me out. Did you not want me to come back here?"

Zack carried him all the way to the bedroom and put him down to sit on his bed before he finally answered. "I don't want you out of arm's reach ever again," he said plainly.

That answered all the questions he still had, then.

Averil didn't know what he was doing when it came to this kind of thing. He'd been in and out of love with numerous girls since his classmate Teresa used to chase him around the playground in first grade, but he'd never dated a single one of them. He didn't know how this was supposed to work with a guy, or why he suddenly thought he wanted it to. All he knew was that it had finally been his turn to save Zack, and the thing that Zack had needed to be saved from was his own thoughtlessness. Again. It had damn near broken his heart to see Zack trying so hard to keep being stoic when Averil was screaming rejection in front of everyone.

Averil turned his palm up and looked up at Zack.

"Then just don't let go of me at all," he said softly.

Zack's eyes widened, and he stared at Averil's hand in disbelief. He could feel himself blushing more deeply the longer Zack went without responding. He was giving it about two more seconds before he told Lee he'd changed his mind and he wanted to go back to the apartment.

"Or not." He curled up his fingers and drew his arm back.

Zack dropped to his knees, grabbed Averil's hand in both of his, and buried his face in the rumpled blankets.

"Zack?" he whispered.

Zack didn't respond at all.

"And I'm supposed to be the dramatic one," he joked weakly.

Zack raised his head, and his face looked no different. Somehow, even though he knew better, Averil had expected him to be crying or something. But his face was calm as always.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked quietly.

Zack's hands were warm and rough and strong. They were always reaching out to save him, even now. Maybe it _was_ okay to need saving when it was someone like this.

"Yes."

Zack let him go and stood up. "Okay. I'll get your medicine now."

"I don't actually need any."

Zack's brow furrowed the tiniest bit.

"I made that up because I felt like an idiot for freaking out. I, uh . . . didn't mean to hurt your feelings, or make things so awkward, or whatever I did. It just seemed like the fastest way to get inside."

"You're not in pain?" Zack confirmed.

"Not a lot, anyway."

"You were trying to help me?"

"Uh, yeah . . ."

"Did you just apologize?"

"Sort of . . ."

"You— you're—"

"What?" Averil squirmed uncomfortably.

"I wasn't sure you were serious about making this work. You are."

Averil flushed and knew he was on the verge of screaming at Zack again. Did he have to make this so freaking _weird_?

"I've been waiting all this time for you to m-m-make up your mind," he said quietly.

Averil gaped at him. "How long were you going to wait?"

"F-forever," Zack said in a raw voice. He sank down on the bed and put his arm around Averil's waist and let out a trembling sigh . Averil stiffened with shock, but he didn't pull away. This actually felt kind of nice. He relaxed into it and laid his head against Zack's shoulder.

"I'm not worth that kind of wait."

"Are to me," was Zack's very brief response.

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, until Averil found himself blinking heavily. All this physical pain and emotional confusion was wearing him out.

"Uh, I think I'm going to have to take a nap," he said. "Sorry. Will you tell Lee I'll call him later, so he can tell me how Sara's doing?"

"Okay."

Zack helped him lay down and get as comfortable as he could before he went looking for Lee. He found him chatting with Grandfather on the back porch while Grandfather smoked.

"So you guys worked it out, right?" Lee asked him.

Zack waited for him to ask a real question.

"You're making it official that you're together, I mean. Right?"

Zack shrugged. "I guess."

Lee smiled. "Good. He ought to have someone like you."

Grandfather surprised him when he flicked away his butt and embraced Zack strongly. He didn't usually hug Zack so spontaneously. "That's my boy," he muttered, sounding proud. Zack allowed it for a moment, then pulled back.

"See you around, Lee," he said dismissively. He and Lee were okay now, but he'd suddenly discovered better things to do. He went back inside and took full advantage of the situation he found himself in. The relief that Averil had made up his mind left him feeling incredibly drained, and they _were_ apparently a couple now. So he laid down beside Averil. Being mindful of his injuries, he just loosely twined his fingers through Averil's and closed his eyes. He didn't think he'd ever fallen asleep so easily before.

* * *

_May 31__st_

Caleb, with nothing better to do, had taken to spending all day at the gym. Working out didn't keep his mind off things, but it did give him a way to let out his frustrations. Last year he'd picked up a job for the summer but this year he didn't want to be tied down. He was going to be ready to leave town whenever Finn was, even if Finn didn't seem to think so. He was hoping he could make a school transfer, keep playing baseball, and keep his scholarship.

He'd already talked to Lee about it. Lee assured him that he'd be fine. He had a couple of places he could go until he could find something better. Tom owed the kid if it came to that, and he couldn't see Lee being turned away from the Williams house, either. Caleb thought either place would be totally awkward: crashing on the couch of your girlfriend's insanely protective brother, or on the couch where your brother and his "not-my-boyfriend" were having some kind of teenaged romance. But Lee would survive. He always did.

It would be better for everyone if there was some way to make Finn stay. But he drew away from them a little more every day. He slept in Caleb's arms most nights, but somehow he was still distant. It would be different if he actually wanted it that way, but Caleb could tell that holding back was wearing him down. Despite Caleb's best efforts, he was getting frighteningly thin, and he acted tired even when he'd slept.

Something had to break. Soon.

He came home thinking about nothing but a shower and a beer. Lee was in the living room reading something with the TV on for noise. He smiled at Caleb in a tired way.

"Isn't your girl home? What are you doing here?" Caleb greeted him.

Lee shrugged. "She's sleeping."

"I thought she was doing better."

"She is, she's a lot better. She even _looks_ better," Lee said happily. "But she said she needed a nap. I might take one, too," he yawned.

He was probably completely wiped out. He'd been in and out of the hospital continuously, then taking his finals, and now he was working full-time for the summer.

"You deserve a nap, kid. I gotta take a shower."

He went to his bedroom with no idea whether Finn might be in it or not. He worked all the time and disappeared at odd hours, so it was anyone's guess when he would be home. He opened the door cautiously, then stopped in surprise. Finn was sprawled out on his own bed, an iPod in his hand and a pair of ear buds in. He rarely listened to music and even more rarely just sat still like this.

He pulled one bud out and said "Hello," rather dully.

God, his music was loud. And . . . was that _Manson_? _"First you try to fuck it, then you try to eat it, if hasn't learned your name you'd better kill it before they see it, it's arma-goddamn-motherfucking-GED-DON!"_

"You listen to this shit?" Caleb asked in disbelief.

"I was feeling nostalgic."

"This is nostalgia? For _what_?"

"Being twelve."

"Don't try to tell me you were a goth in junior high."

Finn almost smiled at that. "Not exactly."

Well, he'd brought it up. If he didn't want Caleb staring at him waiting for the rest of the story, he shouldn't have ignored the question and turned his back on him like always.

"It was this foster family I had at the time. They were really, really nice people. I was actively trying to make them dislike me."

"You listened to this so you could piss off your foster parents?"

"A little Manson here, a little White Chapel there. I let them catch me smoking a few times. I'd crawl out of my window to run off."

"What was the point?"

Finn had closed his eyes, clearly caught up in the memory. Maybe it was the music. Caleb was astounded, to say the least. If Finn couldn't leave his past behind him, then the only thing to do was find out what was so bad about it that he had to be this way. This was the closest he'd ever come to learning anything of substance.

"I wanted them to get sick of me and send me back. Which they did, mind you, but the whole plan was a wash. I thought I'd get placed with my brother after that, but they decided I was too bad of an influence and sent me somewhere else."

Caleb thought somebody might have just punched him in the gut. "With your _what_?"

Finn's eyes flew open in panic. He hadn't meant to say that. Well, holy _shit_, since when he did have a _brother_?

"Fuck me," Caleb said in realization. So many things were starting to add up now, and the vague suspicions he'd had ever since the beginning were making themselves clear. "You had a _twin_ brother, didn't you? And you lost him, didn't you?"

Finn was breathing like he'd just run a mile and he looked completely panicked. "Leave me alone, Caleb," he gasped. "Please, for the love of God, leave me alone."

"Too late for that, dumbass. Start talking _now_."


	23. Chapter 23

_Yes, folks, this is a day early. Why? Because I love you. I'm going to be out of town and away from the computer all weekend, and I just couldn't torture you by making you wait until Sunday night for this update. That would be cruel and unusual. Of course, now you're going to have to wait for next Friday to see the outcome of where this chapter ends. *evil laughter ensues*_

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three

_May 13__th_

_Dark. It was dark all around him._

_How long had he been there? He must have fallen asleep. But now he heard some kind of noise, something that had woken him. A strange scratch. A scratching in the walls._

_Rats. There were rats._

_He curled into a tight ball, laying there in the dark on the floor. Alone. He was so alone here. He hated rats. He'd kept quiet and waited, he'd been so patient, but now it was dark and there were rats._

_He curled up as tight as he could and tried not to cry. He was too old to cry. But now there was a hand, pressing down on his chest. It was holding him down, keeping him there in the dark. Pressing down on him so he couldn't escape, so he couldn't get up, couldn't run from the rats, he couldn't even breathe and he was choking on his panic—_

He thrashed his way upright, gasping for air and throwing away the slender hand that was resting on his stomach. Beth was curled around his back, with her arm thrown casually over him, like she'd been running her hand over his stomach while he was sleeping. He vaguely remembered having fallen asleep while laying on his other side, facing her. He must have turned over, and she must have pressed up against him.

"Mmm, Sebastian, what is it?" Beth asked groggily, startled enough by his sudden movement to struggle upright.

He shuddered. "I told you not to do that."

She rubbed at her eyes, which she'd told him—not two days ago and quite primly—was something a woman shouldn't do if they didn't want wrinkles. "What did I do?"

"You were all . . ." He waved his hand vaguely. "It gave me a nightmare."

She gave him an extremely grumpy look. She was exhausted from a long week at work, and they'd only been asleep for a couple of hours. "You're freaking out because I _cuddled _with you? God, I was _asleep_."

"When I told you that I was extremely claustrophobic, you said you understood and you'd be careful."

Beth gaped at him, wide awake now. "I guess I misunderstood just how claustrophobic 'extremely claustrophobic' is. Shit, Sebastian, it's two o'clock in the morning and you're having nightmares about getting hugs. Don't you think you ought to see somebody about this? A therapist or something?"

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and put his feet on the floor, trying not to make a face that would show Beth his pain. His joints ached lately, he didn't know why. He took his glasses off the bedside table and slid them on, giving himself some extra time to think. He looked back at her over his shoulder. "I'm not really interested in therapy," he said softly.

"Wow," Beth said, her voice loud and sarcastic. "You told me you were a little bit screwy sometimes, but I underestimated you. I mean, I figured with a scar like that," her finger pointed at her own cheek, "you had some kind of horror in your past. But you really are fucked up, aren't you?"

"I told you that you wouldn't want to get involved with me," he murmured, pushing his feet into his slippers and getting up.

"Where are you going? You've got me awake and we're apparently having an argument. Don't you think we ought to talk?"

"Not really," he said, in the same soft voice. "This isn't going to work. Us, I mean."

"What? Just like that? You're calling it quits, right here?"

"I think so."

"You told me you were bad with women, but . . . How many failed relationships have you had, exactly?"

"Many," he said, standing in the doorway now. He ruffled his hair, which he'd been told was the highlight of his attractive features—probably didn't look like much now, all bed-headed and tousled. "I'm not very good at them."

"No shit," Beth snarled, jumping out of the bed and snatching at her clothes.

"I don't think I'm actually capable of falling in love," he added, probably not helping her anger. "What are you doing?"

"You're breaking up with me while I'm laying in your bed in your house. Shit." _Obviously a personal favourite of hers_, he thought sardonically. "I'm getting my stuff and I'm going home."

"No," he said, his voice never changing. He shuffled in his slippers back into the room, put his hands on her shoulders, and gently pressed her into sitting on the bed. "I know how tired you are. Go back to sleep. Tomorrow is soon enough."

"What?"

"It's not that I don't like you, Beth. I just don't . . . I'm not good with people. I know you won't accept a ride from me when you're angry, and I don't want you to have to get a cab to go home, not at this time of night. Just go back to sleep."

"Where are you going to sleep?"

"Well . . . You're probably not going to let me sleep in the bed with you. I'm not that tired, anyway. I'm going to go read for a while. It's okay."

"Not good with people," she sighed, suddenly deflating. "I thought you were the exciting kind of eccentric. For god's sake, you have a motorcycle and a gigantic scar on your face. I thought you were—Oh, I don't know what I thought! Do you have Asperger's or something?"

He chuckled softly. "I don't think so. I just suck at relationships. I'm sorry, Beth. I really am. I should have tried to be quieter and let you sleep. It wasn't really your fault. I don't want you to feel like you did anything wrong, okay?"

She tilted her head and eyed him with a slightly more compassionate expression. "You know, you're actually kind of sweet, for a complete psycho. What was the nightmare about?"

What appeared on his face couldn't quite be called a smile. The ghost of a smile, maybe, a hint that he was amused by the question (like he was going to answer it?) but not too big of a hint. "Goodnight, Beth."

He closed the door on her, and went to the kitchen. He grabbed the teakettle off the little two-burner stove and took it to the sink to fill it—two whole steps. His apartment was small, and the kitchen miniscule. It drove him insane. Beth (among others) had professed amazement that he could create a meal in here, but he was only amazed that anyone considered what this kitchen produced to be food. Tea was about as gourmet as he could get in this ridiculously tiny space. But tea was all he really needed right now, since he was sort of hoping to go back to sleep.

His beautiful golden retriever padded into the room. It was obvious to anyone that Bellissima was still young, with comically oversized paws and a too-wide face. He was worried that the apartment wouldn't be big enough for the both of them by the time she was done growing. Her nails clicked quietly on the cold floor as she moved to his side. He dropped one hand away from the teakettle to scratch behind her ears.

"Hey, girl."

She nudged his hand and licked it, giving him a curious expression.

"I know, I know. It never works out."

She whined a little.

"You're right, I should just stop trying. I am incapable of love."

Now she nipped at him.

"With _people_, of course. I love _you_ more than anything, Sima."

He abandoned the kettle in the sink, sliding down to sit on the floor and groaning at the ache he felt in his legs. He let Sima lick and nuzzle at him in appreciation of his affection. He leaned against a cabinet, let his head drop back, and stared at the ceiling while he petted his dog. This, just this, was the best things could get. _She_ didn't crowd him while he was sleeping, at least.

* * *

_June 4__h_

"Wait, wait, wait, wait," Sebastian chanted, chasing after the plate balanced on the serving tray as it headed for the swinging door out of the kitchen. "Bernice, stop, stop, stop."

Finally, she heard him and turned around. "Oh, _what_, Sebastian?"

He carefully laid a sprig of parsley on top of the dish and threw the bit of shaved parmesan he'd pinched between his fingers. "There."

She rolled her eyes at him, but Manny was walking past and he slapped her butt as she headed through the door.

"Don't knock it, babe," he hollered. "It's called attention to detail!"

Antonio, the young man washing the dishes, snickered at them, but Sebastian was well-used to the antics of the husband-wife-powerhouse that was behind Bella Italia.

"And it's brought us a twenty-percent increase in the past six months," Manny added, slapping Sebastian's shoulder for good measure. "Where are we? What's going on? Let me wash up and get me up to speed. Dinner crowd's already starting to trickle in."

Sebastian turned back to his preparations, washing his hands again so he could finish breading the eggplant. "We're almost totally prepped, sir. Meatballs are made, first shelf of the walk-in, ready to cook. Stew is holding at temperature on the stove, there's plenty of salad chopped and cheese grated. We were low on artichoke, so I sent Frank out for more. He should be back any minute. Mikey called out, but Antonio said he'll stay until closing time."

Manny gave an appreciative nod to Antonio, then shook his head and grinned and Sebastian. "Kid, I love you. If I wasn't married to Bernice, I'd be on one knee right now. I can't believe I landed myself a goddamn professional chef."

"Authentically Italian trained chef," Sebastian said, sketching a little bow.

"Yeah, yeah, you're hot shit, all right. What the hell are you doing working here when you could be down in Napa at someplace famous?"

He shrugged and dunked the eggplant. He smiled to himself, thinking that if he actually told Manny the truth, the poor guy would be sorry he asked. He just thought Sebastian was quiet, didn't realize he was a complete screw-up.

"Well, anyway, how's the dining room?" Manny asked, getting out the meatballs and taking them to the stove to start cooking them.

"Good, I think. Deirdre had enough silverware and baskets for bread to get us through a whole weekend. Bernice said there were three reservations."

"Deirdre? Wait, what the hell happened to Jillian?"

"Quit two weeks ago, sir. Remember? Bernice was yelling at you to fire me that whole weekend."

"Oh, yeah, right. Stop dating my servers, Sebastian. They always quit. What was Jillian, the sixth one or something?"

"Second, sir."

"Right, right," Manny said in a distracted way, grimacing and wiping a bit of grease that had popped on the stove and hit his cheek. "Well, stop dating the girls."

"I didn't," he protested. "She just sort of followed me home one night. I couldn't make her walk home in the middle of the night. My bike was in the shop. It just sort of . . . happened."

"Well, things better not just sort of happen with this Deirdre. Bernice likes her."

"I'll do my best," Sebastian said, suddenly weary.

"I thought you were with that girl, that Beth chick, anyway."

"We broke up."

"What happened?"

"She started getting to know me."

"Aw, come on, kid, you're . . . actually, I don't know what the hell you are." Manny stared at him in sudden fascination. "You drive a motorcycle, you've got the bad-ass ponytail and facial scarring . . . But you're so friggin' nice, I'da pegged you for a kindergarten teacher, complete with the eyeglasses. I don't know how you took this kitchen over, you're way too quiet and skinny to be a chef."

Sebastian sighed and set the finished eggplant aside so he could start stuffing some manicotti. He didn't answer Manny.

"Well, kid? You've worked here for more than half a year and I don't know a damn thing about you, except you're an amazing chef and you go through women like other men go through disposable razors."

Sebastian hunched his shoulders. "The Honda is a convenient way to get around." _(Well, that, and awesome.)_ "I forgot to cut my hair until I started liking it long." _(True.)_ "The scar is my own business. I'm nice because I like being nice. I've always been skinny. I love cooking, and I've never wanted to do anything else with my life. As for why I'm quiet? There's a lot of stuff I don't like talking about, and it doesn't leave much left to say. Hence the problem with women. That's me, Manny. That's all I can tell you. I don't get me, either." _(And he couldn't really help the bitterness in that last part.)_

"Damn, Sebastian, I wasn't trying to insult you or anything. Hell, I'm sorry. I can't help it if I worry about you sometimes."

"Worry? About me?" he repeated in bemusement. Since when did anyone do that?

"Yeah. You come here, work your ass off, and go home. Every day. You don't do anything else. I mean, I hope you've got a hobby or something."

His fingers twitched, remembering, but he shook his head. "Nope. I just cook. And play with my puppy."

"See that? You know why you got a dog?"

"Because I like dogs?"

"Because you're bored and lonely. You're a young guy! Get out there, get into the nightlife or something. Make some friends. You're practically a hermit. It isn't right, for a handsome kid like you."

"Listen to the man," Bernice added, marching through the swinging door and putting a ticket on the magnetic strip above the stove. "You're a gorgeous, funny, polite boy who can cook and has a cute puppy. You've got no excuse for ever sleeping alone."

Sebastian snorted as he pulled out the cutlets to make the chicken parmigiana that had just been ordered. "Beth accused me of having Asperger's. Jillian just said I was creepy."

"Who says you're creepy?" Deirdre asked, backing through the door with a loaded tray in her hands. "No rush, Antonio, we've got plenty to spare."

"Jillian," Manny answered, while Sebastian went from wishing the night was over to _praying_ it was over.

"That the girl I replaced? What'd you do to her?"

"Nothing," Sebastian growled. "Like I said, she followed me home, and my bike was in the shop so I couldn't take her home. She slept at my place, and that was all."

Deirdre wrinkled up her nose. "What's so creepy about that? Other than her stalking you, I mean, which could be sort of cute in the right circumstances."

"I didn't _want_ her there. I made Sima sleep with us."

Deirdre started laughing, but she was giving him that all-over look that meant she was considering what it would take to find herself in his bed _without_ the dog. Perhaps not consciously, she was comparing herself to Jillian and liking her chances.

"Deidre, those tables don't wait themselves!" Bernice snapped, and the girl scurried back out the door. Bernice rolled her eyes.

"No dating the servers, Sebastian," Manny repeated with relish.

"Yes, sir," he sighed. This night would never end. He'd died without noticing, and he was in Purgatory. He must be. He'd been suspecting it for years. "Where is Frank with my artichoke?"

* * *

"Hey, Antonio, get out of here," Sebastian said, taking a futile swipe at the front of his shirt. The stain just wasn't coming out this time. The headache that had been building all day had turned into a full-blown migraine, but he ignored it, since Antonio had stayed hours later than he was scheduled to. "You've been here all day."

"Okay," he said, but he hesitated. "Is okay? You're here all day, too."

"Yeah, it's fine. Frank and I can finish up."

Antonio was hanging up the canvas apron he always wore, but he still hovered by the back door for a minute. "Sebastian? I can say something to you?"

"Uh, sure. I guess."

Antonio was unfailingly polite to him, ever since the night Sebastian had gone out to pick up his girlfriend when her car broke down. Antonio had bought him a couple of beers to say thank you, and he'd ended up having a really great night hanging out with Antonio and Lupe. The poor guy had come here from Mexico legally, but apparently Sebastian was the first one to assume so and treat him like a human being. Unlike Manny, who was so self-absorbed that he only noticed Sebastian's problems when they interfered with his restaurant, Sebastian was aware that Antonio had been standing right there and overhearing their conversation.

"I heard what you talked about earlier, you and Mr. Manny. And I think. Eh . . . You cook, you like your puppy more than all your girlfriends . . . Maybe you give a try to men, eh?"

Sebastian blinked at him, then forced himself to start laughing. "You think I'm gay?"

"I was only thinking maybe you try that. Mr. Manny is right, you are lonely and you need something. I don't want to interfere with your life. I only think you need something. I worry, and even my Lupe worries. You—tomorrow. You will come out with us? We will go out, dancing maybe, you can meet someone. Or not, if you don't want to meet someone, but you can still come and have a good time."

And now Antonio was trying to make this a real friendship or something. Sebastian wasn't used to that. His own fault for being distant, really, but he was _tired_ of being distant, wasn't he? Antonio was a great guy. "No, thanks. I mean, thank you, Antonio. That's really kind of you. But I don't . . . I don't want to meet anyone. Definitely don't want to meet a guy."

"You are sure about that? You ever tried it?"

"Can you keep a secret, Antonio? From the rest of them?"

"Yes."

"There's a reason I don't get close to people. When I was younger, I was better about it. But I had my brother, then. Things have gotten worse since we moved apart."

Antonio was visibly startled. "You have a brother? We all think you don't have family."

Sebastian found himself outside, taking a cigarette from his co-worker and lighting it up. It took him a moment to get through the first drag. He only smoked in a social setting, which meant that he never smoked.

"I do. Well, I did. I haven't seen him in a long time. Anyway, it's just him. He's the whole family."

"He doesn't live here?"

"No."

"Where does he live?"

"I don't know," Sebastian said, turning his eyes to the plume of smoke trailing from him. "I haven't seen him in eight years."

"Why so long?"

Sebastian deliberately ran his finger over the scar on his cheek. "Somebody did this to me, and my brother patched me up and shoved me on a plane to New York and told me to run away. So I did."

"You haven't talked to him since then?"

"No. He left, too. I called a friend of ours, but she didn't know where he went. I didn't dare call . . . Well, there was no one else to ask. So I have to wait for him to find me."

Antonio was looking at the employee cars parked back here, and he inhaled on his cigarette with a lot of gravity. "I heard Manny ask you once. Why you don't live in Italy. He said you lived there for two or three years. Learning to cook and working in a nice restaurant."

"I had to come back. I wanted to be somewhere that Finn could find me."

"Is been a long time, though. You sure he will? You have a plan, if he never finds you?"

Sebastian dropped his cigarette and stomped it out. He turned to go back inside, but suddenly his control was gone. He ended up slamming his fist into the steel door so hard that he reeled back in pain. "Ah. Ah, shit. Ow."

"You hurt yourself?" Antonio asked, flicking his own cigarette away and stepping closer.

Sebastian cradled his hand against his chest, feeling like he was going to scream, throw up, or both. "I'm fine. I'm fine. Just . . . Look, I shouldn't have told you. Just don't ever bring it up."

"Hey, man, I didn't mean to make you upset. You are talking to me, I was trying to help, you know? You're a good guy. You want me to help you look for him? Lupe's brother is a cop, man, he can—"

"No! No. I don't want to bother Lupe or her brother. It's okay, Antonio. Don't worry about me. I'm fine." God, no, definitely not the cops. If Arthur had reported anything . . .

"Maybe I can do one thing for you?"

"What?"

"Get some ice for your hand," Antonio said, giving him a tentative smile.

Sebastian managed a smile of his own. "Yeah. Yeah, that'd be good. Thanks."

* * *

The ice hadn't done much for the swelling, and when Lupe arrived to pick Antonio up, Antonio had already told Manny the problem. Sebastian was forced by the entire staff to let Lupe drive him to urgent care. Two hours, a couple of painkillers, and a lot of medical tape later, they were dropping him off at his apartment and promising to pick him up tomorrow to take him back to Bella Italia to get his bike. Manny told him to take the weekend off, they'd survive without him.

"You know you can't run the kitchen without me," Sebastian said into his cell phone, feeling like his head was detached from his body. It wasn't like being drunk, exactly. But it was nice that he couldn't feel his two broken fingers.

"Like hell I can't, it's my kitchen," Manny said. "Aw, you're right, but we'll get by. You can't cook with broken fingers, anyway. Frank's not completely useless, we'll be fine. I'll see you on Tuesday, kid. Maybe then you'll tell me why you were punching a friggin' steel door, huh?"

"Maybe I'll think about telling you for a while. But I probably won't tell you," he said dreamily. "Huh? What'd you say? No, not Manny. Antonio. Oh. We're here. I gotta go, Manny. I'll call you on Monday, okay?"

He hung up the phone and found Antonio and Lupe laughing at him.

"Hey, you should be on drugs more often," Lupe giggled. "You're more interesting this way."

"If you say so," he mumbled, making three tries at opening the door and finally managing it. He stood up, feeling slightly dizzy, and he was forced to grip the handrail on his way up the stairs.

When he saw the woman standing in his doorway, he thought he must have gotten more muddled than he'd expected, picked the wrong door. But it was his apartment. Someone was standing there, waiting for him.

"Beth?"

"Oh, finally. You usually get home so much sooner."

"I had to go to get my hand fixed," he said, holding it up to illustrate.

"Oh, what happened?"

"Nothing important. What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you. To apologize, actually."

"Really? Why?"

"For what happened . . . It's just that I think I was too hard on you, and I think you were reacting to that when you broke up with me. I should have tried to be more understanding. I know I should have. So I came to apologize. I thought we were getting along so well. It ended so fast. How would you feel about trying again?"

Sebastian just stared at her for a minute. Then he jerked into movement, realizing what he was doing. "Sorry. But Beth, I'm high as a kite right now. Bad time for this discussion. Sorry."

"What? High?"

He held up his hand again. "I broke my fingers. They doped me. But that doesn't matter, because I don't want to try again. I don't think I do."

"You don't _think_?" she repeated in a dangerous tone.

He considered telling her about Finn, about the tiniest bit of his past like he'd just told Antonio. If he could tell his coworker, he ought to be able to tell a girl he was seeing. But . . . No. Just no.

"No," he said aloud. "I don't want to get back together."

"Just like that, without even having to think?"

"We weren't even together long enough for you to be upset about this."

"You are _so_ infuriating."

"I've already had another woman over." Granted, Jillian had only slept, and Sima had been in bed with them, but Beth didn't need to know that.

"God!" she shrieked, and started stomping down the stairs. She turned back several times to shout at him. "You have no heart, do you?" Stomp, stomp, stomp. "You're just going to step all over mine." Stomp, stomp, stomp. "Fine. I can do better than you, anyway. One night stands are all your pretty face is good for!" Stomp, stomp, stomp. "See a psychiatrist or something!"

They hardly knew one another. Beth didn't care about their so-called relationship, only feared that he was disdaining her. Which perhaps he was. But it wasn't because of _her_, was it?

* * *

_June 5__th_

A car horn honked, and Sebastian looked out his window to see Antonio waving at him from the open window of the car. Lupe wasn't with him today, so she was probably at the salon where she worked. His hand hurt terribly, throbbing with insistence, but he wanted his bike back and was willing to drive it recklessly just so he could get it over with and come back home and go back to bed. It had been increasingly more difficult to crawl out of bed every day over the past few weeks, and the prospect of getting back in it was nice. He could pull the covers over his head and shut out his hand and Beth and Antonio and just sleep . . .

He was suddenly _thrilled_ that Manny had given him the weekend to recover.

His cell phone rang as he was locking his door, and he didn't recognize the number. He debated not answering it. It might be Beth. He was growing very tired of Beth. But still, it might be Frank calling because he was freaking out about not having Sebastian there as a buffer between him and Manny.

"Hello?"

"Sebastian Valeria?"

"Yes."

"Thank God . . . Listen, I got your number from a chick named Emma at that culinary school you went to. She didn't want me to tell you that, but I thought you ought to know that your ex-girlfriend is giving out your number to strangers."

Sebastian was almost to Antonio's car, close enough that Antonio could see him frowning and was frowning back.

"Who _are_ you?"

"My name's Caleb. You might want to sit down."

Sebastian climbed into the car and waved off Antonio's attempt to question him. "I'm sitting. Now, can I help you?"

"God, I hope so. Are you any good at knocking sense into dumbass blonds?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm your brother's roommate. He just told me about you. He's a dumbass and he thinks he shouldn't look for you because he thinks you hate him or something. Anyway, I tracked you down for him because he's spent the last few years killing himself with guilt and I'm sick of it."

"Oh," Sebastian said dumbly. "Oh."

"I've told him a million times to put his past behind him and get a life, but since that never seems to take, I decided to call you."

"I can't believe I was that easy to find," Sebastian mumbled. He dropped his head into his good hand. "Oh my god. Oh my god. I couldn't find him, but now . . . How is he? Really? Is Finn okay?" Antonio's head snapped around so fast it was a wonder he didn't break his neck—or crash the car.

"He's fine, mostly. He just got his master's degree. Again. Apparently, this is his _second_ one."

"Oh. Wow."

"Look, I'm not going to lie to you. The idiot gets by, but only because I've turned into his damned babysitter. He doesn't even eat unless I make him, he wakes himself up screaming almost every night and he'd never go back to sleep if I didn't make him . . . I'm calling you to ask you if you'll come see him."

"Oh, god," Sebastian choked, surprise and sheer joy stopping his words in his throat. "I . . ."

"If you don't want to, can you at least call him and tell him that you forgive him for whatever he thinks he did? Lie, if you have to. Just do something."

"He didn't do _anything_," Sebastian suddenly burst out. From what Caleb was saying, Finn was still blaming himself for all the things he'd been through, and now it seemed he was even blaming himself for what had happened to Sebastian. He felt anger and grief rising up, dominated by a protective instinct that he hadn't known in eight years. "He hasn't done anything wrong. I can't believe . . . I _can_ believe he'd feel guilty, actually. He's always been good at that."

"Are you going to come or what?"

"Do you have any idea . . .?" Sebastian choked again, and knew he was crying. "I couldn't find him. I tried. My god. I would have come years ago, if I'd known where . . . Oh. Where is he?"

"California."

"Me, too. I'm in California. Oh my god. You don't mean that I've been living so close . . ."

"You're right there in Napa Valley, aren't you? That's what that Emma girl said."

"Yes."

"We're in San Fransisco."

Sebastian choked again. "I'm coming. I need your address, oh, wait, no I don't have a pen, I . . ."

Antonio was waving a napkin from a drive-through and a Sharpie at him, and Sebastian snapped them up.

"Okay, go ahead. Right. No, I know how to get to the city. But once I exit the freeway . . . Right. Okay. Right by the school? Okay."

"You sound like you're already on the way. Don't you have to arrange to get out of work or something?" Caleb sounded like a gruff guy, but he was clearly amused.

They pulled up to the restaurant, and Sebastian found himself completely undaunted by the idea of driving his motorcycle with his broken fingers.

"I have the weekend off. I'm already getting on my bike. I'll be there by the end of the day!"

"I should have guessed you'd miss him as much as he misses you," Caleb said. "I'm not going to tell him you're coming. You can surprise him."

"I'll-be-there-soon-goodbye," he said all in one breath, and shoved his phone in his pocket, and then he suddenly came back to himself and realized that he was about to hop on his bike without having said a single word to the man who'd driven him here. "Antonio . . ."

"Hey, this is your brother. I understand. You're going now?"

"Yes!"

"In San Francisco, I heard?"

"Yes! I . . . that was his roommate. He's— Finn, I mean, he's not doing well, I guess. There's a lot of things that happened to him, and he's still holding onto it, and Caleb thinks I can help—"

"Hey, Sebastian. I understand, man. Go. But if your hand makes it bad for you to drive, you tell me and I can do something. You can take my car, I can drive the bike . . ."

He was clearly dreaming of having the beautiful black machine beneath him, but Sebastian was _so_ not letting anyone else drive his Phantom. "No. I'm fine. Good enough, anyway. I just . . . I can't wait. I have to go."

"So go," Antonio said, grinning because Sebastian sounded like an idiot.

"Oh, crap—my dog. What about Sima, I have to—"

"Give me your key. I pick up the puppy and tell Lupe to take care of her."

Sebastian fumbled to get the key off the ring, but his fingers were shaking so much that he couldn't do it, and Antonio had to get out of his car and take the key himself.

"You are sure that you can drive?"

"Very sure."

"Okay. Don't worry about Sima, she is safe with us."

"Thank you for— well, you're a good guy, Antonio. Last night and this morning, you didn't have to help me, but— well, thanks. See you!"

He'd locked his helmet to his bike, and he'd been fumbling to get it undone while he spoke. Now he jammed it on his head and started the engine. He didn't even feel pain when his taped fingers wrapped around the handlebar. He navigated his way to the street, and he only hoped he could contain himself enough to keep from being pulled over for speeding. It was far too long a drive to San Francisco. Finn was at the end of it. His brother. He used to call him "Fish Face" to make fun of him, and they'd been more than just brothers and best friends, they'd been _twins_. He'd worried so much. He'd spent eight years worrying. He knew what Finn was like, and they hadn't parted well. Now, to be told that he'd had a reason to worry . . .

"God, Finn, I'm coming," he muttered, his voice captured by the helmet and muffling itself around his head. "Just try not to kill yourself for another hour. I'm coming."

* * *

_Who loves Sebastian? Everyone loves Sebastian! I obviously used "Horitsuba Gakuen" as my influence for the development of his character, what with the Italian chef thing. He wears glasses because I saw a piece of artwork Clamp did for HG that had him with glasses and I nearly got a nosebleed._

_And that is why I said this was a crossover of five "and a half" CLAMP stories. I'm only using Horitsuba Gakuen as far as Sebastian goes, really. TRC, xXxHOLiC, CCS, Chobits, Kobato, and ½ HG._

_Random points of interest on this chapter: I wrote it back when I was writing chapters 3 and 4, and I didn't even have to change anything, which means I win at continuity and character development. Also, my editor is in love with Antonio's mad friendship skills, which makes me happy. More people should be like Antonio._

_Anyway, I left Sebastian out of my Livejournal entry regarding character's names to avoid spoilers for my own story. I wanted everyone to continue wondering about the existence of his character until now. So, here is my very silly and convoluted reason for naming him Sebastian:_

_Sebastian/Yuui— I took this directly from Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night." If you've read the play, you know why this is funny, and you can skip the rest of this explanation. If you haven't, here goes . . . He is the twin brother of the play's protagonist, a girl named Viola. She disguises herself as a man when she gets separated from her brother so that she can get a job and survive. She proceeds to fall in love with the man she's working for (who thinks she's a man, and tries desperately not to fall in love with her and fails). Naming Yuui "Sebastian" is basically just my nerdy attempt at literary humour and poking fun at Fai's feminine qualities. And is also the reason I named his friend Antonio, because Shakespeare's Sebastian had a friend named Antonio who helped him search for his sister._

_Now, then. Picture time! I put some new links up on my profile page, of Sebastian's beautiful piece of mechanical art and his dog.  
_


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-four

_June 5th_

There'd been another one of those phone calls. Caleb had been at the gym all afternoon, but he knew it had happened as soon as he walked in the door. Of course, it wasn't exactly a credit to his skills of observation, not this time. Usually he could tell Arthur had called because Finn would act like an even bigger asshole for a while.

This time, he knew because he found Finn in their room packing a bag.

"I'm leaving," he said when he saw Caleb over his shoulder. "I can't do this anymore." His voice was soft, like he was actually sorry or something.

"You're not going anywhere," Caleb said automatically. His eyes immediately flicked to the alarm clock on the nightstand. It had been more than two hours already since he'd made that phone call . . . He just had to stall for time.

"I'd love to see you stop me!" Finn snapped, whirling around to face him. But the fire died quickly, like it always did. "I'm going, Caleb," he murmured, turning away again. "I don't know what's going on with Arthur . . . All I'm doing is screwing everything up. I was leaving in a couple of months anyway, but I'm not going to do this anymore."

Caleb had known days ago that something had to break, but he hadn't thought it would be Finn himself. It seemed that conversation about his brother had just snapped something inside of him, because he'd been almost silent for the last few days. He'd even been sleeping in his own bed—or at least pretending to sleep. All Finn had really told him was that _something_ had happened to them when they were teenagers, that it had been Finn's fault, and his guilt was what had kept them apart all this time. Caleb had only one thought upon dragging that information out of Finn: if _that_ was the guilt that plagued him so much, then Caleb was going to do whatever it took to eradicate it. Anything that would get that sickening look of emptiness out of his eyes.

"Just wait," Caleb said harshly. "It'll be dark soon, for god's sake. Just wait until tomorrow."

"So you can talk me out of it? No. You've done enough. You've been . . . You've done enough. I can't keep doing this to you. You sacrifice too much, and you'd keep doing it forever if I let you. God knows why, after the way I . . ."

If he was talking like this, it meant he was serious. He was actually going to run away, tonight. Caleb felt his stomach trying to lodge itself in his throat, and he _really _didn't like that feeling. He crossed the room in a single stride and pressed his hands down on Finn's shoulders like it was the only thing holding the man to the earth. "Just _don't_."

"Why?" Finn muttered, hanging his head and giving Caleb a view of his tousled hair.

"You are such a dumbass," Caleb muttered. After all this time, night after day after godawful night—now he was asking why? _He would, wouldn't he? He's being serious. He doesn't know why. He doesn't even see himself._

"Yeah, that's one of my problems," Finn laughed, lifting his head again, and ducking out from under the crushing pressure of Caleb's hands.

"Stop trying to _leave_," Caleb growled. "I don't _want_ you to." Every fiber of his being was rebelling against the idea that Finn should ever leave his sight. He acted on impulse and pulled Finn against him, wrapping his arms around him until he likely couldn't breathe, much less escape. "I don't care where you think you're going," he said through clenched teeth. "I'm going with you. I made a promise. I always keep my promises."

"If I wasn't here, your life could be normal," Finn whispered, his whole body straining against the embrace. He wasn't fighting to get away, not really. Caleb had no doubt that if he wanted to, he could. He was just trying to pretend this wasn't happening. Well, Caleb wasn't going to _let_ him bury his head in the sand this time. Finn was _not_ _leaving_.

"I don't give a shit about normal," Caleb snarled, holding him even tighter and feeling sickened that he could feel Finn's backbone so prominently against his arms. "The only thing I care about is—" He stopped. He just didn't want to say it. Finn couldn't take hearing it, not now. "Just fucking tell me you're going to stay so I can let go."

"Okay," Finn said softly. _For now_ was not said aloud, but Caleb heard it. Finn wasn't agreeing to stay forever, he was agreeing to stay until the next phone call or the next bad nightmare. They were going to have to do this again. Finn had no sense of self-worth anymore, or maybe he'd just never had it. He was barely holding on to his sanity these days, and for some goddamn reason he was convinced something would happen to all of them if he stuck around.

Caleb didn't know what else to say than what he'd already said, didn't know what else to _do_ than what he'd already done. He was almost as exhausted as his dumbass roommate. But he'd made that phone call. If it didn't help, then it would be like this for the rest of his life. He wouldn't turn away from it, but if there was a chance that Finn could be better than this . . .

"Good. Since you're not running off like a wimp, I have a surprise for you." Caleb finally talked himself into unlocking his arms.

"A surprise?" Finn repeated with suspicion. "What kind of surprise?"

"I had to make a phone call and have it . . . Brought in, I guess. From out of town."

"Where is it?" Finn asked, sounding amused.

The doorbell rang.

Caleb gave him a sharp smile. "I think that's it now." _Dear God, this had better be him . . ._

Finn followed him curiously to the door, and Caleb opened it. He was shocked by what he saw on the other side. Knowing that they were identical twins, he'd been expecting a carbon copy of Finn, from the messy hair to the wicked smirk. Instead, there was this guy. Skinny black pants, boots, a blue riding jacket, blue and black helmet in his hand. He wore glasses. There was a puckered scar running the whole length of his right cheek, from the corner of his mouth to his ear.

"Are you Caleb?" he asked in a quiet voice. He sounded like what Finn would sound like if he were ever calm.

"Yeah," he grunted.

Sebastian had been lifting his hand to shake Caleb's, when he saw Finn peering curiously from behind him. He froze.

"Finn," he whispered.

"S-s-sebas— oh god," Finn whispered. "Bast?"

Caleb stepped out of the way so he wouldn't get shoved over as Sebastian hurried through the door, throwing his helmet carelessly on the ground. Finn stood there looking lost, and he was actually _shaking_, as if in fear. Sebastian stood in front of him, staring at him.

"He called me," he said, pointing to Caleb. "He said you were . . . Well, being yourself. Killing yourself a day at a time."

Finn had no response. When had Finn ever _not_ had a response?

"I couldn't find you. I just couldn't find you. I tried."

Finn's eyes were wide, his hands were trembling, and he began to mutter, over and over, "Your face, your face, oh Bast, your face, your face." He finally met his brother's eyes. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry."

"For this?" Sebastian asked in surprise, raising his hand to his cheek. He had walked through the door with the air of a person who was grave and reserved, but his eyes were bright with tears and his face was becoming softer as he looked at the trembling wreck that Finn had turned into. "I don't remember you being the one holding the knife, Finn," he said gently. "I seem to remember that you cleaned it and bandaged it for me, in fact."

"It was my fault, though. You know it was my fault."

Sebastian took a deep breath. He lifted his hand and held it out, palm facing Finn. Caleb noticed that his other hand was all taped up for some reason. Finn lifted his hand in response and they pressed their palms together. The significance was lost on Caleb, but he could tell that it _was_ significant, to them. Well, that must be what having a brother was like. He hadn't really thought about it, not having one of his own. Weird little moments that were only important to you. Lee and Averil had those.

"What I know," Sebastian said slowly, "and make no mistake, Finn, I _know_ this beyond a doubt, is that none of it was your fault. Do you understand? You've been blaming yourself for every bad thing that's happened since we were five years old, and you've never been right. _None_ of it was your fault. Not one thing."

Finn shook his head, closing his eyes, pulling his hand away. "You're wrong."

It wasn't just his hand. _He _was pulling away, acting like he always did and denying what was right in front of him. His brother was standing here trying to reconcile, and he was rejecting it. Sebastian stood there helplessly for a moment. Caleb couldn't let it keep going that way.

"Hey," he said, stepping forward and gripping Finn's arm. He didn't even have to think about it—he'd gotten weirdly comfortable with reaching out to him physically. "You're an idiot, remember? Your brother seems to be a lot smarter than you. Maybe you ought to listen to him."

Finn didn't open his eyes. "You're probably right, which is why I can't. I can never do anything right, remember?"

"I remember that you're a dumbass," Caleb sighed.

Then he shoved Finn, hard, and sent him stumbling forward. He would have fallen, he was too surprised to right himself. But Sebastian reached out and caught him. He'd apparently forgotten about his taped-up fingers, because his eyes suddenly went wide and he hissed in pain. He went to his knees with a grimace, still holding Finn, who had still not got his balance. They ended up in something of a heap, with Sebastian on his knees and Finn falling into his lap.

Caleb expected him to bounce back up and make a joke or try to run away or something. But Finn started crying. He stiffened in shock at the sound.

"Bast, I've missed you so much. Please say you forgive me. Please come back. Please."

If this didn't go well, Caleb would murder Sebastian and take Finn to some secluded island where they never had to see people again. But looking at the way the guy was clinging to Finn like a life preserver, he kind of thought this might work.

"Finn, I . . . I didn't need to forgive you, I just couldn't _find_ you. Did you think I was avoiding you because I was angry or something?"

"Please," he cried.

Sebastian cradled Finn against him with a lot more gentleness than Caleb would have used. "Okay, Finn. Okay. I forgive you. I've missed you, too. Whatever you need, Finn, I'll say whatever you want me to say. Just be all right, okay? Try to be all right."

Finn dug his fingers into Sebastian's coat, like he planned to hold him there by force if he so much as shifted. Sebastian looked up at Caleb, trying to ask him without using words if he'd please go away and give them some privacy. To hell with _that_.

"If you think you've got to preserve his dignity or something, don't worry about it," Caleb snorted. "He doesn't have any."

"Oh. Well, could you give us a minute anyway?"

"I don't want him to leave," Finn muttered.

"Really?" Sebastian bent even closer over Finn and spoke quietly. "You hate letting people see you out of control."

"He's seen worse," Finn muttered.

Caleb smirked at Sebastian's surprised expression. "I told you. He wakes up screaming every night, these days. I don't let him drink that much anymore, so who do you think calms him down enough to sleep again?"

Sebastian clearly didn't know what to say, and just started petting Finn's hair while he cried. Normally, Caleb would have picked the guy up off the floor and made him stop, but he could tell this was different. Somehow, crying was helping Finn, so Caleb would ignore how much he hated it when people cried. Finn was relaxing more by the second, and his sobs were tapering off into little sighs. His fingers were clenching and unclenching in Sebastian's jacket. Sebastian wasn't exactly dry-eyed himself. He pressed his forehead into Finn's hair and Caleb could see his shoulders shaking even if he couldn't see the guy's face.

He took a seat on the couch and waited. He'd be here when they were ready to get off the floor. Hell, he'd probably have to pick them up. Sebastian was way too skinny to be able to support Finn if the idiot had worn himself out with all the crying.

Finn finally turned his face so that he could see Caleb, and he eyed him with curiosity. Wondering why he'd stuck around for the waterworks that he professed to hate, most likely. He just _still_ hadn't figured out that he was important and that Caleb wasn't going anywhere. Because he was a dumbass.

"Is this really that entertaining?" Sebastian asked, his voice sounding soft and polite but his eyes were narrow and his lips thinned out.

"Just making sure he gets it all out," Caleb said, waving his hand at Finn. "I'd hate to have to do this twice."

"How did you find me?" Finn asked, still holding onto Sebastian's jacket. He made no effort to get up.

"I didn't. Caleb found me." Finn's eyes went wide and he looked at Caleb while Sebastian continued. "He called me this morning. I didn't even think, I just got on my bike and hit the road. I got here as fast as I could. I barely remembered to get someone to feed my dog."

Finn smiled, just a little, at Caleb—probably all the thanks he was ever going to get. But what did he care if Finn was grateful, so long as this pushed him in the right direction? Finn turned to rest his head on Sebastian's arm. "You have a dog?"

"She's a golden retriever, she's still a puppy. Her name is Bellissima, but nobody can figure it out so I just call her Sima."

"Wait, you must live really close to here."

"I live in Calistoga."

"What do you do there?" His hand clenched down hard. This question was obviously important to him.

Sebastian squeezed back. "I'm a chef at an Italian restaurant."

Finn started crying again, but it was short-lived, just a few harsh sobs and then it was over. "Good. That's great, Bast."

"What about you, Fish Face? What have you been doing all this time?"

"Studying."

"You're still in _school_?"

"Uh-huh. I've been dicking around trying to figure out what I want to do. I started out studying chemistry, like I said I was going to. But then I got into history, and I did a double major with history and anthropology. Once I had my degrees for those, I went back and got another one in linguistics. Then I got a master's in linguistics and I just finished one in history."

"You know how we always liked to tease you for being so smart that it made you stupid?" Sebastian said, ruffling Finn's hair. "This would be why."

Finn finally sat up, and he was smiling. "I like it, you know. All the history and anthropology stuff. I think I like it better than chemistry. I never would have gotten into it, except that I thought Arthur could find me too easily if I went into science."

Sebastian had started smiling back, but as soon as Finn said the name Arthur, his smile disappeared. Finn's didn't.

"You have to tell me about your school, and about your job," Finn said. "Is it . . . You're happy, right?"

Sebastian nodded, his own smile beginning to return. "I love it, Finn. I'm doing exactly what I've always wanted, and it's perfect."

Finn suddenly jumped up and grabbed at Sebastian's hand to pull him up. Sebastian went white as a sheet and groaned. Finn let him go and went back down to his knees. "Oh, god, Bast, what is it? What's wrong with your hand?"

"I broke a couple of my fingers last night," he said in a gasping voice. "And you just squeezed them."

Caleb stood up, figuring they were probably done with the crying. "Do you have a prescription for pain?"

"No," he whispered, cradling his hand against his chest. "I was just going to take Tylenol."

"Finn's still got a few pills leftover of whatever he was taking. I'll get you one."

Caleb headed down the hall to the bathroom. He heard them continue speaking while he rummaged around the medicine cabinet looking for the forgotten bit of orange plastic.

"Why do you have prescription painkillers?"

"I got shot," Finn said proudly, and Caleb just _knew_ he was lifting up his shirt to show off the scar. "See? Right here."

"My _god_, Finn. What happened? Are you okay?"

There was silence for a full minute. Caleb held still, ceasing his movements so they'd forget about him and keep talking.

"You know what the sight of blood does to me," Finn said at last.

"Yeah . . ."

"Seeing _my_ blood, all over like that—it was on Caleb, he had my blood all over his hands because he was trying to keep pressure on it," Finn babbled in a shaky voice, a voice of real honesty like Caleb hadn't heard in a long time. "It was bad. It was really, really bad. That's why I've been like this lately. I made myself forget everything for so long, but when I saw the blood I started remembering. It's a different nightmare practically every night."

"You have a lot of things to have nightmares about," Sebastian said. Caleb imagined he'd gone back to holding Finn. He had that protective sound in his voice. Caleb felt weird about it. That was _his_ job. _He_ was the one who protected Finn.

"I know."

"And I haven't been here. God, Finn, I'm so sorry."

"No. Don't say you're sorry. I was the one who disappeared. But it hasn't been that bad."

"Oh, really?" Sebastian said sarcastically. "No offense, but you look terrible."

"I know. But it should be a lot worse than it is. Caleb . . . I don't know why he gives a shit about me, I really don't. Look at me. But he helps."

"Yeah, so he said. That he can calm you down."

"That's one way to explain it."

"Um, Finn? Are you . . . I mean, roommate? Is that all?" Caleb finally started walking back out there, because he wanted to see Finn's face, not just hear the explanation. He stayed quiet, thinking that if they didn't notice him standing there it was their own fault for not being observant enough. He hadn't allowed himself to speculate on any of this. He knew that Finn resented him, but he didn't know most of what the guy was thinking.

"I don't think it's really possible to explain Caleb," Finn said, shrugging. He was smiling, but not at Sebastian. He was smiling at something completely internal. "He's just _there_. Always. The only thing he's ever asked of me is that I stay alive. He's . . . very strong. He doesn't mind that I'm a wreck, because he's strong enough for both of us. And for our other roommate and his girlfriend, because they're going through a lot of things right now. And anyone else he cares about. He doesn't need anything to be strong. He just _is_. He never has to ask when we need help, he just knows. And he's keeping me alive, Bast. I wouldn't be able to live if he wasn't— The nightmares have gotten so bad that I wouldn't even _try_ to sleep, but— He's just there. I'm always so disoriented when I wake up. He calms me down, forces me to go back to bed. I'd be dead by now if not for him."

_Why does he sound so fucking grateful? I thought he hated being alive. And I am not . . . all that. It's not that fucking heroic to think that feeling sorry for yourself is a waste of time._

"Are you guys . . .?"

"I don't know what we are," Finn said, still smiling that internal little smile. "I don't want to know. It might ruin it. I kind of hate him, anyway."

"Sounds to me like you lov—"

"Keep that word to yourself," Finn said harshly. Caleb wasn't sure whether to feel relieved that they weren't getting into that, or just pissed that Finn had denied it so quickly. "It's complicated. I wanted to die. I didn't want anyone to help me. If he had left me alone, this would all be over with by now. I'm _tired_, Bast."

Sebastian put his hand on Finn's head and pulled it to rest against his shoulder. "I can tell. But please don't say things like that. You make it sound like you've given up."

"I did. When I got shot, I did. Caleb's the one who didn't give up. He's forcing me to keep going."

"And you resent that."

"Yeah."

"It's pretty obvious you don't hate him, though."

Finn _did_ know he was there. He turned to look at him. His expression was completely blank. "Obvious? I thought I was a complete mystery."

"You're a complete dumbass," Caleb said, stepping into the room at last. He tossed the bottle of pills at Sebastian, who caught it with ease in his good hand. He grabbed hold of Finn and hauled him to his feet. "Why don't you just tell the truth, already? He can think whatever the hell he wants about it, I don't care."

"About what?" Sebastian got up, too. "Then you guys _are_, um . . ."

"We're not whatever you're trying not to say," Caleb responded. "But I can't sleep when I know he's staying up all night working himself to death or trying to destroy his liver. If he won't stay in his own goddamn bed, he can stay in mine."

"If I try to leave, he holds me down. It's _very_ kinky," Finn smirked. Whoa. An actual joke?

Sebastian just shrugged. "You're being awfully weird about explaining it, but if I'm getting this right . . . Finn sleeps in your bed. With you. But you're not actually having sex or anything. You're . . . sleeping."

"Yeah."

"We cuddle," Finn said, still smirking.

"We absolutely do not. You try to hit me, and I grab your arms so I don't get punched in the face. That is not— not—"

"Cuddling," Finn supplied, grinning and ducking away from him when Caleb took a swing. "Besides, if we're telling the _truth_, let's talk about when I wake up _crying_ instead of screaming. When I do _that_," he said, dancing around Sebastian to avoid Caleb's attempts to hurt him, "he holds me. And if that isn't cuddling—"

Caleb finally got a hand on Finn, and yanked him out from behind his brother to give him a good whallop. But Finn looked happier than he had in—well, ever. He was still strained-looking, and he was clearly waiting for Sebastian to run out the door screaming, but Caleb hadn't seen him with a smile this genuine in so long he'd forgotten it was possible. So he didn't hit him. He just gave him a shove toward the kitchen.

"Make some tea or something," he mumbled. "He needs something to drink so he can take that medication."

Finn practically danced as he obeyed, and Caleb clamped down hard on the rising lump in his throat. He hadn't been like this in months. It was working. This was actually working.

Sebastian sank down onto the sofa, looking them both over carefully. "If you guys don't want to call yourselves gay, it's hardly any of my business," he said at last. "But for what it's worth, I can tell you're good for each other."

Caleb threw himself down onto the other side of the sofa, snorting disparagingly. "I don't know what about being fucking stressed out and exhausted is supposed to be good for me."

"Bast? Do you still like Earl Grey?"

"Uh, sure. That's fine."

That box of Earl Grey tea had been in their cupboard the entire time they'd lived here, and he'd never seen Finn drink it. Which meant he had been keeping a supply of the tea his brother liked around for years, just in case. That was pretty stupid. But that kind of loyalty . . .

"So you're the one who taught him how to cook?" Caleb asked while Finn was in the kitchen.

"He cooks? He only cared about learning desserts."

"That explains a lot," Caleb sighed. "The food was always better when Ril was doing most of it."

"If you don't like it, I don't have to do it," Finn said primly. "But I never heard Lee complain about Mommy's cooking."

Fantastic. He was happy enough to start calling himself Mommy again. The stupid goddamn nicknames couldn't be far behind.

"None of this is my fault," Caleb told Sebastian. "He was already crazy when he showed up here."

"I believe you," Sebastian reassured him, taking his tea from Finn. He turned a stern look on his brother. "Mommy? Really?"

"Caleb hates it," Finn explained, plopping down right in between them. "Oh!" He jumped straight back up. "If you've been driving all day, you're probably starving, aren't you? I _should_ cook something. And Lee will probably be home soon, too!"

"Who's Lee?"

"Our other roommate."

"Oh, okay. Um, you don't need to cook anything for me, though, I'm not hungry."

"But Bast . . ." Finn whined.

"Leave him alone," Caleb said, hauling the psycho back down to sit between them. "How could he be hungry, after you squeezed his hand like that? Give the meds some time to work before you try to feed him."

Finn frowned and very gently picked up Sebastian's hand to look at it. "You had it looked at, right? You didn't do this yourself?"

"I went to urgent care," Sebastian agreed.

"How did you do this, anyway?"

Sebastian coughed and took a gulp of tea that must have absolutely scalded his throat. His eyes were watering as he opened his mouth to change the subject.

"Do I look like the judgemental type?" Caleb snorted. "If you broke them doing something weird, _I'm_ not going to care."

"I wasn't doing anything weird, I'm just embarrassed," Sebastian admitted, hiding his face behind his hand. "I punched a door."

"So?"

Sebastian was looking at him like _he_ was the crazy one out of the three of them. "I punched a piece of steel."

"Were you angry?"

"Actually, I was talking about him for the first time ever," he said, nodded his head at Finn. "And the guy I was talking to asked me what I would do if we never found each other."

Caleb was still trying to figure out why this meant he ought to be embarrassed. Then he said, "Oh. Finn or I could show you how to punch without hurting yourself like that, you know. Although if the door was made of steel, I'd have probably broken something, too."

"You'd have broken the door," Finn snorted, amused, although Sebastian still apparently thought he was crazy. He was getting that look that said he didn't understand. Well, whatever.

"So, who's the guy you were talking to?" Finn asked.

"Oh, Antonio's just . . . Well, he's one of my coworkers. You know how I am, I've never been good at making friends. We only just started getting to know each other. Actually, he and his girlfriend took me to get my hand fixed. And they're taking care of Sima for me."

"Oh," Finn said, deflating suddenly. "You said you were getting close to this guy, and I thought you were going to tell me you were dating. You were always so shy about that, I was afraid you hadn't been out with anyone in the past eight years."

"He had at least one girlfriend," Caleb said. "Named Emma."

Sebastian grimaced. "She was at school with me, but she couldn't handle the stress in the kitchen, and she started working in the administrative office."

"Oh. Well, that's better than nothing," Finn said, patting him on the shoulder.

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "There was Natalia before her, and then after her was a girl named Amanda. Then I went to Italy and there was a visiting English girl named Rita, as well as Francesca, Carla, and a couple of girls whose names I don't remember. When I moved back to New York, I stayed with Emma for a couple of weeks, then moved to California about six months ago. Bianca was first, then Beth, then Jillian, sort of. The new server Deirdre has her eye on me, but my boss is trying to keep her away from me because Bianca and Jillian both quit after trying to get involved with me."

Finn whistled. Caleb would have been more impressed if Sebastian had managed to hang on to one instead of having a fucking harem.

"I've decided I'm in a committed relationship with my dog," Sebastian shrugged. "She's the only one who I haven't chased away and hasn't run off on her own."

"But Bast, that's the worst luck with women I've ever heard of," Finn said, petting his shoulder again. "I'm sorry."

He grimaced and set his tea aside. "It doesn't matter. I didn't really care about any of them. They don't understand me, and I don't even give them hints. I always tell them up front that I'm messed up and they're going to regret this. They invariably start believing me after about two weeks. Want to know why I broke up with Beth?" It didn't really matter if they did, because he was going to tell them. "She put her arm over me while we were asleep. It set off my claustrophobia, and I started having that dream about being in the attic."

That made Finn move as far back as he could get, which coincidentally made him back up into Caleb. Which was probably not an accident, since he'd gone pale and looked close to tears, and he was probably expecting Caleb to do something about it. Caleb obliged by not shoving Finn off him. He saved the holding him down and calming him for when he was trying to wake up from a nightmare. He was already awake, right now.

"I couldn't— she just didn't understand, you know? I'd told her she couldn't do that while I was asleep, but she didn't know why it was such a big deal. So I broke up with her. She actually showed up at my place last night asking me to give her another chance, but I said no. I just couldn't fathom trying to explain why I am the way I am."

Finn didn't say anything. He looked like he was grieving.

Sebastian sighed. "Finn. I didn't tell you that to make you feel guilty. I was just— god, I haven't talked this much in years. I know it feels like we don't know each other anymore, but you know I'd never run off at the mouth like this if it was anyone else. I'm just saying _everything_ and not trying to filter it. It feels _good_."

"But I made you break up with your girlfriend," Finn said in a small voice.

"No you didn't," Sebastian said gently. "We never really talked about this, did we? Back then?"

"No. But I repressed most of the memories, so it would have been hard to talk about something I didn't remember."

"Well, now's the time, then." Sebastian held out his hand. "Thank you, Finn. You protected me, so thank you."

Finn didn't take his hand. "I made you have awful nightmares and gave you claustrophobia."

"But I can handle them," Sebastian said gently, leaving his hand there between them, palm facing up like something would be dropped into it. "Yours are so much worse. Look at you, Finn. You're a mess. You made yourself into this, just so that it wouldn't be me. You shoved me in the attic, and you were the one who had to see all that horror. I can handle a few dreams about rats. You . . ." Now he did move his hand. He used it to yank Finn away from Caleb and embrace him. "I'm so sorry that it had to be you," he whispered. "Finn, I'm so sorry."

"But that's why it was okay," Finn whispered back. "I could handle it being me, because that meant it wasn't you."

Caleb had absolutely no idea what they were talking about, except that it had to do with Finn's nightmares. So apparently he'd put Sebastian in some attic, giving him a complex about enclosed spaces, and then he'd seen something really bad while Sebastian was locked up in there. He assumed he'd seen whatever gave him the really panicked nightmare, the one that included dead people. This couldn't possibly have anything to do with that guy Arthur, since Arthur was alive enough to make creepy phone calls. Which meant Finn had a whole host of guilt complexes to work through, not just one. Great. Just great.

* * *

Lee and Averil were celebrating. Not only had they both managed to pass the school year, Averil was out of the wheelchair and into a walking cast. Lee had said he didn't mind if Zack was with them, too, but Averil was insistent on the two of them spending time together to make up for his absence. After they went to a movie, they decided to go back to the apartment. They were both hungry, and Averil said he'd cook. Lee missed his brother's cooking.

"Do you want to stay here tonight?" Lee asked as they very slowly made their way up the stairs. "Just so you don't have to do this twice?"

"Maybe," Ril said thoughtfully, pausing to give his leg a moment. "We were going to meet up again tomorrow morning anyway, so I might as well, right?"

"Yeah, hopefully. Depends on how Sara's feeling, but she's been feeling really good."

Lee thought his smile would stretch right off his face. His bone marrow had infused Sara with a new strength, and the doctors were telling them that things were looking up. They had a tentative plan for all four of them to go down to Fisherman's Wharf to watch the sea lions, something Sara loved that she hadn't been able to do in a long time. It would be awesome for her to just get out and do something. She'd made a start by coming with him to visit Ril a few days ago and meeting Zack and Harold for the first time. Harold had adored her immediately, and Zack had treated Lee's announcement that she was actually a princess with a hilarious amount of gravity.

"Zack says he's never been. He _would_ be the kind of idiot who could live in San Francisco for four years without seeing the most famous part of the whole city."

Ril _spoke_ like he thought Zack was an idiot, but he couldn't hide the smile that crept onto his face when he said it. Lee had been keeping a sharp eye out, but from everything he'd seen so far, Zack was the best thing that could have ever happened to Ril. He was dogged about making sure Ril wasn't trying to do too much while he was injured, and Lee thought the constant bickering was teaching his brother to stop being such a spaz all the time. They hadn't even held _hands_ that Lee had seen, and Harold had admitted they didn't seem physically affectionate to him, either—but he'd caught them both napping on Ril's bed a couple of times.

Lee opened the door and let Averil through. He came in behind him, closing the door, and nearly ran into his back. Ril was just standing there gaping at Caleb and Finn sitting on the couch.

"What?" Lee asked. Then he noticed what Ril was staring at.

Ril kept blinking, and Lee opened and closed his mouth several times before he found any words.

"Uh, Finn? What happened to your face?"

Finn came bouncing out of the bathroom, drying his face and neck with a towel. "I copied it!" he chirped.

Averil continued blinking. Lee stared at the person sitting on the sofa, who was clearly not Finn since Finn was standing in the hallway.

"Huh?"

"You'd think you two would know twins when you saw them," Caleb smirked, and looked at the person he was sitting with. "That's Lee, that's Averil. Also twins, or so they claim."

"New question," Lee said, still not moving. "Finn, when did you get a twin?"

"Twenty five and a half years ago," Finn replied promptly, tossing the towel into the basket that sat in between the washer and dryer. He pushed the folding door shut to hide the dirty laundry. "That's Sebastian."

"Hello," Sebastian said, waving his hand. "Sorry if I'm intruding."

"No, that's cool," Lee answered automatically. Averil was the one who walked forward to shake hands, surprisingly. Just because there was someone new to the situation, Lee suddenly noticed how clunky and awkward his poor brother looked, with his walking cast and the one arm in a sling. Sebastian seemed to be too polite to ask about it, though.

"I'm the twin who doesn't live here right now," Ril said for clarification, assuming Sebastian had been informed that one of them did live here.

Sebastian chuckled a bit at that. "So am I, I suppose. Nice to meet you."

"So, uh, where do you live?"

"Up in Calistoga."

"You guys might as well ask before you make yourselves crazy trying not to," Caleb said.

"Yeah," Lee said. He looked at Finn again. "Since when do you have a _twin_?"

"There's some things that happened that I'm not ready to talk about," Finn said quietly. "We got separated when we graduated from high school, and we didn't know where the other was. I didn't think I was ever going to see him again. Caleb tracked him down for me through the school he went to. He only got here an hour ago."

"Wait, you guys haven't seen each other in how long?"

"Eight years," Sebastian answered.

"Oh. Damn. Way to go, Caleb."

Caleb just rolled his eyes at that.

Lee suddenly realized how long it had been since he had seen Finn this happy. Not to mention Caleb. Caleb not scowling was a full ear-to-ear grin from anybody else. His own reunion with his brother had been incredibly emotional, and they'd only been apart for a few months. Eight years? He and Ril probably shouldn't stay.

"Hey, Ril, let's go to your place instead, okay? We'll let these guys talk."

"No, no," Finn protested. "You guys can stay. I want you to get to know each other. Is that okay, Bast?"

"Yeah, sure," Sebastian shrugged. He smiled at them, and it didn't seem like he was upset that they were interrupting things. "This whole thing is a little weird for us, too, so don't feel bad if you're confused."

"That's just Ril's natural state of being," Lee teased, and got a charley horse for his effort at breaking the ice. Which made Sebastian laugh, and that was great because it made Finn laugh and they'd sort of forgotten that he knew how. Lee felt almost joyful. Finn was laughing, and Ril was here, and Sara was next door resting so they could actually go out and do something for the first time in months . . . Life had suddenly taken a dramatic upturn.

"So, Averil, if you don't live here, where do you live?" Sebastian inquired politely.

"Ah, across town."

"With his _boyfriend_," Lee said brightly. Might as well, right? Sebastian was probably going to be around a lot from now on, and Ril would never be the one to say it.

"Will you shut _up_?" Ril snarled, punching him again. "We don't _call_ each other that!"

Just because Ril had an aversion to the word did not make it untrue. "They _act_ strangely like boyfriends, for people who are supposedly aren't," Lee said. "Zack has a very romantic tendency to save his life sometimes. And Averil cooks for him . . ."

"Speaking of cooking we came back here to make something to eat and I'm going to get started making food now," Averil said in a rush, scurrying into the kitchen and hiding behind the door of the refrigerator. "Are you _trying_ to make Sebastian think I'm a freak?"

"Well, he has to get used to it if he wants to hang out with them, doesn't he?" Lee said, pointing to his roommates. Ril was practically normal compared to those two.

"Since when the fuck was I anybody's boyfriend?" Caleb snarled. Lee bit his tongue and managed to keep himself from saying _"since you started sleeping with him."_

Sebastian just shook his head with slightly baffled amusement. "What about you, Lee? Do you have a friend who is totally not your boyfriend?"

"No," Lee answered, and felt his face go violently red.

"Her name's Sara," Finn volunteered. "She lives next door, with her brother and _his_ boyfriend."

Sebastian gave Lee a crooked smile. "If you ever need to get away and hang out with straight people, you can come visit me anytime."

"You know, I might take you up on that," Lee laughed, following Ril into the kitchen. Damn, how had he not noticed that practically everyone he knew was gay? Was that weird? Well, whatever. "Hey, are you guys hungry? Since we're already cooking."

"I could eat," Caleb said.

Sebastian started to stand up, but Finn pushed him back down. "No. You broke your hand."

"Just my fingers," Sebastian protested.

"No."

"You're letting the kid with half his limbs broken do it!"

Lee couldn't help laughing at that. He wondered what had happened to Sebastian's hand.

"Actually, my arm isn't even in a cast anymore. I'm just keeping it in the sling to help my collarbone along," Averil called out, already in the process of slipping out of the sling so he could cook. "I fell out of a window, in case they hadn't told you yet."

Finn was holding Sebastian down. "Ril's kind of accident-prone," he teased.

_Ril_ wasn't the accident-prone one, but Lee had been forced to accept that he still wanted to be friends with the girl who'd caused the accident. Apparently she was really nice and she felt horrible, not mention she was going to have an epic scar on her leg from getting cut by the glass, which made Ril feel horrible right back.

Sebastian was looking wistfully over his shoulder. "Your kitchen is so much better than the one in my apartment."

"It's tiny," Averil protested. "I live in a house, so we have a _real_ kitchen. I forgot how much this one sucks."

"My stove only has two burners," Sebastian said mournfully. "And no dishwasher."

Averil shuddered in horror.

"You must like to cook, then, Sebastian?" Lee asked.

"I'm a chef."

"Really?" Averil asked, going slightly starry-eyed. "That must be amazing!"

"Sometimes," Sebastian agreed. "It can be stressful, though, especially since there's so many food critics in my area. There were a lot of dropouts at my culinary school, too."

"Did you go to school somewhere around here?"

"Nope, New York. Well, and Italy. But not much school in Italy, I mostly worked when I lived there."

The evening went on from there, with all of them plying Sebastian with questions about New York and Italy and about his job at Bella Italia, while Lee helped his brother very humbly put together dinner. Ril was obviously trying not to embarrass himself. He selected the herbs for the chicken very carefully, and he quickly sautéed a bit of garlic and blended it into the butter for his signature breadsticks. He even grilled some asparagus. Lee hadn't even known they _had_ asparagus. Everyone loaded up a plate and found a place to sit.

Caleb and Sebastian went back to the sofa, Finn took the armchair, and Lee and Ril dragged a couple of chairs from the table over. Ril hunched over his food and wouldn't look up. A few bites in, Sebastian set his fork on his plate and looked at him until Lee elbowed him in the ribs to make him look up.

"This is great," Sebastian said simply.

"It is?"

"Did anyone teach you how to cook?"

"Not really. I just sort of . . . figured it out."

"In that case, this is amazing. I'm surprised that you're an amateur. You've really got a sense of how to pick complementary flavours. You could do this professionally, if you wanted to."

Ril blushed with pleasure and started shoveling food into his mouth so he couldn't start spazzing and ruin the moment. Lee decided he loved Sebastian whole heartedly, and it put him in such a good mood that he volunteered to collect all the plates and do the dishes. Sebastian gamely continued to answer questions about himself while Lee worked, probably because Finn was listening so avidly.

It wasn't long before Finn started to fade, though. With the state he'd been in lately, it was no wonder the day had exhausted him so much. At first, he just pulled his legs up into the chair and went into his curled-up-cat pose. But he started nodding off, blinking heavily and catching himself from tipping over. Lee didn't say anything, because that was Caleb's job. Caleb didn't let it go on for long.

"Hey. Go to bed."

Finn pouted at him. Wow. Lee hadn't seen Finn do anything like that in ages.

"He's not going to disappear. I'll sit on him until you wake up, if it makes you feel better."

Finn stood up, but he only moved a few steps. He threw himself down onto the sofa, landing with his head and shoulders in Caleb's lap. He nuzzled his face into Caleb's stomach.

"I said go to bed," he growled, his face beginning to stain with red.

"This _is_ bed," he protested grumpily.

Lee decided that even as the resident straight guy, he was allowed to think that was sorta cute.

"Really, Finn," Sebastian added. "I was planning to be here for the rest of the weekend. I'm only going as far as the nearest hotel."

"Hotel?" Finn peeked at him with one eye. "You can't stay at a hotel. You have to stay here."

"No, I'm not here to impose—"

"It's not an imposition if you're my brother," he replied with as much severity as he could muster with his mouth muffled by Caleb's shirt.

"All right," Sebastian agreed uncertainly.

Ril suddenly stood up. "Oh. I guess I'd better go home, then, so you can use my bed—"

"We've got a couch," Caleb interrupted. "It'll be fine."

"Nobody needs to sleep on the couch," Finn argued, finally turning to face them. Lee was certain that Caleb would deny he had ever done any such thing later, but he totally put his arm under Finn's shoulders to make him more comfortable. "Sebastian and I can share my bed."

"You two are sharing a bed?" Caleb asked with suspicion.

"We've done it before."

"Before your dirty mind decides to take that and run with it," Caleb said quickly, "I'll skip to the part where I say, 'You're a disgusting bastard' and I punch you. Then I don't have to listen to it." It was weird how easily all this seemed to have come back to them.

"You're no fun," Finn pouted. Then he grinned at Sebastian. "Remember that girl? The one that couldn't take the hint that you weren't interested in her?"

Sabastian grinned back. "Yeah."

"What girl?" Caleb grunted.

Finn lowered his eyelids seductively and Lee decided he was allowed to be horrified by that. "There wouldn't be any _room_ for you, dear," he crooned.

"Well, we're _twins_," Sebastian said in a similar tone, with his own heavy-lidded look. "We do _everything_ together."

"You're _both_ disgusting bastards," Caleb said. Lee concurred.

"That plan backfired, unfortunately," Sebastian said.

"Yeah. She was really weird."

"You two are such naughty boys," Sebastian said in a breathy voice. "Nice boys would share with me."

Caleb closed his eyes and took a very calming breath, while Lee was busy painting a mental picture in which he ran out the door screaming and spent the rest of the night hidden under Sara's bed.

"We're not serious, Caleb," Finn said in amusement. "I mean, gross, he's my brother."

Someone's phone was ringing, but it was muffled and none of them could figure out where it was coming from. Then Sebastian crowed in triumph, sticking his hand in between the sofa cushions and fishing a phone out.

"Twincest Fanservice Hotline," he chirped. "Sebastian speaking. How may we serve you?" After a moment, he laughed and put the phone down. "They hung up. God, I hope that was Beth. Or Manny. No, I hope it was Beth."

If Lee ever heard the word "twincest" again, he was going to throw up.

But something wasn't right. Finn was staring at Sebastian with fear in his eyes. "Sebastian. That's not your phone. That's mine."

Sebastian looked at it, and laughed again. "That's funny, our phones are almost the same. Can't escape it, even now, huh?"

"Bast . . ."

The tone in Finn's voice made Lee's stomach clench with sudden worry.

"It said it was an unknown number anyway. Oooh, sorry, I hope it wasn't anyone important."

Caleb looked down at Finn, who had gone very, very pale.

"Oh, shit," he said sharply. "_Shit_."

"What? What is it?"

"Bast. That was Arthur."

The name meant nothing to Lee, but phone fell from Sebastian's hand.

"You just told him where you are."

Sebastian, too, was becoming very pale. "Oops."


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

_June 5__th_

Sebastian didn't _mean_ to move away from Finn, but he did, and he saw the pain it caused his brother immediately.

"Why— why is he calling you?" he stammered, unable to help sounding hurt and betrayed. Finn would have a good reason—Finn never did _anything_ without a good reason—but_ why?_

"I don't want him to call me," Finn said in quiet desperation. "He just does."

"Why?"

"He got his hands on the police report when I got shot. It mentioned what school I go to. He got my contact information from them. He doesn't even talk anymore. I always hang up on him, anyway. He just _breathes_. It's creepy, Bast, I swear I've told him to stop—"

"I believe you," Sebastian said, scooting closer again. Being so close against his side didn't repair the damage that jerking away in the first place had done.

"That's why I never went looking for you," Finn mumbled, sounding helpless and defeated. "I knew he'd find me eventually. I just couldn't know where you were. I was too afraid he'd get it out of me."

Sebastian grabbed Finn's hand. "I know."

He did know. These other guys in the room might think it made Finn seem weak, but Sebastian knew. Arthur could get Finn to talk, whether he wanted to or not.

Caleb, even casually leaning against the arm of the sofa, could look possessing. He just shifted his weight and suddenly everyone was looking at him. "I think it's about time you explain just who the hell Arthur is," he said in a deliberately slow tone.

Sebastian looked at Finn with shock. "You've seriously never told him?"

He was still reeling from the idea that his brother was sleeping with this man. It wasn't sex, but after the things Finn had been through, the abuses he had suffered, the idea that he wanted to even share a bed—with anyone at all, much less a man—was mind-boggling. But Sebastian had somehow assumed that because they were doing that, it meant they were close enough to talk about the person who'd had the greatest impact in Finn's life.

"Are you kidding?" Caleb grunted. "I've known him for a year and a half, and he only just got around to mentioning _you_."

Okay. Well, maybe Sebastian could flatter himself into thinking he was just as important to Finn as Arthur had been. But that meant Finn was silently torturing himself even more than Sebastian had guessed. The other two kids looked completely lost. This might be the first time those two had even heard of Arthur.

"Here's the first thing you need to know about Arthur," Sebastian said in a rush, before Finn could start and make them think it was all his fault or something. "We loved him. And he loved us, at least I think he did. But he was—"

Caleb held up a hand. "Stop."

Sebastian frowned curiously.

"I want him to tell me."

Finn had already drawn his feet up and bent his knees to wrap his arms around, making himself a little ball of misery between them. He froze his movements when Caleb said that, and they shared a look that Sebastian couldn't understand. Maybe they were closer than it seemed. Then Finn shook his head miserably.

"If it's not important enough for you to tell me, then it's not important," Caleb said decisively.

Finn scowled. "You can't say that, when you don't even know what happened. It was all my fault."

Caleb snorted. "I can't exactly cast stones about poor judgment in adolescence, can I?"

Finn was still looking at Caleb, but Sebastian could see that he smiled for a moment. The dark-haired twin seated across from them—Averil, he reminded himself, Averil was the dark one—nudged his brother and lifted his eyebrows.

"Sports Illustrated," Lee mumbled, which seemed to clear things up for Averil but did nothing for Sebastian. Ah, well, he was the one in the room who knew about Arthur, so maybe that made them even. But Caleb's adolescent mistakes that apparently had something to do with _Sports Illustrated_ aside, Finn was sitting here trying to blame himself for everything. _Again_.

"Just tell me if you're going to tell me," Caleb told Finn, only a moment before Sebastian could yell at him.

Finn stared rather stoically at the wall, although his arms were tight around his drawn-up legs. "We lived with him. During high school. He was our foster father. We really loved him and we thought he was doing right by us. As far as my experience went, he was the best father figure I'd ever had, so some of it I can chalk up to ignorance. But I was willfully blind to the rest."

"Finn, that _wasn't your fault_," Sebastian ground out through clenched teeth, unable to take it anymore. "I hid it from you, and I begged you to ignore it when I couldn't hide it anymore." He looked at Caleb. "I don't even like basketball. But I joined the team at school so I could tell Finn that's where the bruises came from." Basketball had been miserable from day one. He hated it. But if Finn didn't know what Arthur was doing, then it wasn't ruining how well everything was going for him.

"Only you," Caleb said in disbelief. "Only you could somehow twist things around until your foster dad beating your brother was somehow your fault."

"It was my fault for letting it go on," Finn said stubbornly, resting his chin on his knees. "I knew Sebastian was lying, and I figured it out in our senior year. Arthur is bipolar, see. It was actually one of those things that made me think we were something like a family. Although I can't see how a single man diagnosed with bipolar disorder was allowed to foster children in the first place. But it was nice, because I thought we cared about each other. It was what we did at the dinner table. 'Did you do your homework, Sebastian?' 'Did you go to your appointment with the counselor, Finn?' 'Did you take your medication, Arthur?' Yes, we're all good today."

The level of bitterness in his voice was incredible. He'd always had reason to have it there, but in Sebastian's experience, Finn preferred sad silence, a rather _soft_ silence. Not this. When had Finn become this harsh, angry man?

"Anyway, he went off his meds. He started acting violent sometimes, just weird things like slamming the door or throwing things around in his room, but it made me start thinking. About what Sebastian was trying to cover up with his lie."

"You were so happy, Finn," Sebastian said softly. "You'd never been happy before, and I couldn't take that away from you."

It was the wrong thing to say. Sebastian knew it before the words were even out of his mouth, but it was too late to call them back. It was the truth, but it wasn't helpful.

A bitter laugh. "And it's always all about me, isn't it?"

"That's not fair," Sebastian said adamantly. "It's not fair to you, and it's really not fair to Arthur. Let _him_ shoulder the blame for what he did." He looked over at Caleb again, over Finn's miserably hunched shoulders. "You're probably wondering why it was just me and not Finn, right?"

Caleb scowled at him, reminding him that he wasn't supposed to be the one telling this story. But Finn had picked up on it.

"I was his golden child," Finn said softly, still gazing at the wall. "I was winning tae kwon do tournaments and taking college-level chemistry courses. Arthur thought I had a girlfriend, even though I wasn't really dating her. I was doing everything right, according to him. But Sebastian cooked, and he liked the play the piano before Arthur told him he wasn't allowed to waste his time with it anymore. And he didn't even have many friends, much less girlfriends. He thought Sebastian's plan to become a chef was just pie-in-the-sky dreaming. He got upset that Bast wasn't taking life seriously. And he thought Bast was gay. He _really_ doesn't like gay people."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Caleb muttered.

Across from them, Averil stiffened in his chair. Lee's hands clenched into fists. Sebastian looked sadly at the two of them, and thought about the idea that Arthur was going to come here looking for them. These two boys needed to leave before then. Lee would defend his brother to the death if he had to, and Sebastian didn't want that to happen. Averil should be allowed to be himself. He shouldn't see anger and even blood shed just because of who he was. Not like Sebastian and Finn had.

"So, you figured it out," Caleb said, inviting Finn to continue speaking.

For a moment, Sebastian didn't think he was going to.

"You know what I did about it?" Finn mumbled. "Not a goddamn thing."

"I _told_ you not to!" Sebastian exploded. "We were going to be graduating soon, and Arthur was going to pay for college. I wasn't going to screw things up at that point."

"He was only going to pay for college if he approved of it," Finn corrected him. Which was true. Arthur refused to pay for culinary school, although he was only too happy to approve of Finn's plan to major in chemistry. Sebastian had told him he was going to get a business degree and minor in accounting. Which he would do until he found another way to pay for culinary school.

"And _I_ wasn't going to let Arthur take away the one dream you'd ever had," Finn said. "But I didn't make up my mind till that day that—" He buried his face in his knees again. When he finally looked up, he looked at Caleb. "To make a long story short, he went really crazy and tried to kill Sebastian. I kicked him out, bandaged Sebastian up, and put him to bed. Then I broke the law."

Sebastian could feel his eyes going wide. He'd never known—suspected, but never _known_—that Arthur hadn't just volunteered to write a check.

"I got into Arthur's accounts, stole a vast sum of money and then I bought a couple of plane tickets. I put Bast on a plane with enough money to pay for school and said goodbye. This was as far away as I could get from New York without owning a passport. I knew I was never going to see him again."

He'd actually planned to never see him again. Sebastian felt like the knowledge was sucker-punching him all over again. Finn had been so riddled with guilt and panic that he'd sacrificed everything to make Sebastian safe and happy. He'd given up his relationship with Arthur, given up his plans for the future, and cut off ties from Sebastian, the only family he had. For the past eight years, Sebastian had cycled through grief, anger, and sheer _awe_ at being so loved by such a person as Finn.

"I don't regret being here," Sebastian said, gathering his thoughts together. He had to put himself back in the present and deal with the situation they'd found themselves in. "I'm sorry I answered your phone, but I'm not sorry that I'm here. No matter what happens."

"You will be when he gets here," Finn muttered.

How was it possible, that the asshole who'd tried to take his face off still had such a hold over Finn? He'd thought things would be different after what Arthur had done, but Finn was terrified. Sebastian had been afraid of Arthur only so far as the damage he could do to Finn. Being beaten on hurt, but it didn't scare him. What scared him was seeing the light in Finn's eyes go out again. And now it had. Sebastian was going to _fix this_.

"What is he going to do to us, anyway?" Sebastian said scornfully.

Finn looked suddenly uncertain.

"I mean, seriously. We're not confused teenagers, Fish Face, we're twenty-five years old and we don't live in his house. He's got nothing to threaten us with."

Nothing but the vestiges of Finn's self-worth. But Sebastian wasn't going to let Arthur touch that.

"I promised myself, Finn. When I got back to the States, I thought about running into him at some point, and I promised myself that he wasn't going to hurt either of us."

"What are you talking about, Bast?"

Sebastian always wore long sleeves, so he hadn't hesitated to take his jacket off and put it on the table with his helmet. He hadn't exactly been expecting Arthur to show up, hadn't expected to need his jacket to be close. He pointed at it.

"There's a gun in the pocket."

Finn just stiffened up, but Caleb glared at him.

"Oh, gee, I would have mentioned it sooner, but I was a little busy with my tearful reunion."

Caleb kept glaring.

"Relax, sheriff. It's registered."

"Wow, Bast," Finn murmured. "When did you get so sarcastic?"

Sebastian hadn't entirely realized he had. _Right around the time you got bitter and awful_, was the first thing that popped into his head, followed by _I definitely shouldn't say that_, and finally _Man, when did I learn to stand up for myself?_

"I guess I just got tired of getting pushed around," he said, trying to smile and feeling it come out weary and painful. "Sorry, Caleb."

"It's cool," Caleb responded, sounding like it was anything but.

"What are you planning on doing with a gun?" Finn asked crossly.

Sebastian was abruptly struck by how much he had changed. If he'd told Manny or Antonio or even God forbid Emma that he had a gun, they wouldn't have asked that question. Finn didn't see him as being that kind of person, and Sebastian honestly didn't think he would be in other circumstances—but his brother was the only person he'd ever loved, and he had made a promise that he wouldn't let anything happen this time.

"When Arthur comes in, I'm going to put it to his head and tell him to leave," Sebastian said calmly. "He's completely unbalanced, but he's not _stupid_. He'll leave."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Bast."

"Damn straight it's not a good idea," Caleb added.

Sebastian scowled.

"Guns are supposed to be a last resort. Leave it in your pocket," Caleb said in a tone that did not invite debate. Sebastian wasn't thrilled to be ordered around by his brother's . . . ah, whatever it was that Caleb was to his brother. Caleb seemed to notice, because he softened it a bit. "Look, it's like you said. We're all adults here. We can talk to this guy. With any luck, he's back on his meds and he'll be reasonable. If not . . ." He shrugged. "We'll deal with it."

"We?"

Caleb raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah."

"Arthur's not your problem," Sebastian said, nearly dumbfounded. Why would anyone want to deal with Arthur if they didn't have to?

"Of course he is," Caleb growled.

Finn curled in on himself even farther, and Sebastian suddenly understood something rather profound. Caleb's insistence that he was not Finn's boyfriend had nothing to do with Caleb's hang-ups. The idea that Caleb was in the closet or something was entirely at odds with his self-confident bluntness. Oh. So Arthur was Caleb's problem because Caleb was _making_ Arthur his problem, whether Finn wanted him to or not. Sebastian was starting to feel sorry for Caleb, which seemed like an incongruous thing to feel about a guy like him.

"He's not coming tonight, anyway," Finn suddenly mumbled.

"Why wouldn't he?"

Finn raised his head. "You remember how he was, when we got in trouble. He would tell us what we were in trouble for, then he'd wait. For hours. Sometimes even for a day or two. We had to think about it before he came to talk to us or punish us or whatever. He always wanted to be sure we understood what we'd done and he wanted to be sure he was calm and ready to talk." Finn's face crumpled. "That's how he was with me, anyway."

It would make it worse for Finn if he found out that Arthur had been like that with Sebastian, too. That he'd thought about it, and that it had usually been an unemotional and well-planned decision to beat him. That would kill Finn.

"So he'll come tomorrow?" Caleb confirmed.

"Yeah, likely," Sebastian agreed.

"Good. I'm too tired to deal with anymore bullshit tonight."

_Agreed_, Sebastian thought wearily.

Another cell phone rang. It wasn't Finn's this time, but everybody jumped anyway. It was Averil's phone. Sebastian had half-forgotten the two boys were there, quiet as they'd been, respecting the struggle that Finn was going through just to have this out in the open. Averil dug his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open, going red as they all looked at him.

"Hi. Sorry. I know, I'm sorry. I was gonna call a while ago, but I got . . . distracted. Don't just repeat what I say and make me feel stupid, you know I hate that. There's a lot going on over here. Yeah. I was actually thinking about staying over, just because the stairs suck so much. Oh, my god, I didn't know it was that late. I'm really sorry I didn't call earlier." Averil suddenly stood up. "Zack," he said in a much softer voice, limping down the hall so he could at least pretend they couldn't all hear him. "You don't have to worry like that. Just take a deep breath and calm down."

Caleb, for some reason, snorted in amusement. Finn seemed to be thinking the same thing, whatever it was, because he was trying to hide a smile.

"I don't know how he can tell when Zack isn't calm," Finn explained softly. "He's _always_ calm."

Averil made a strangled noise. "You have a bad _feeling_? _Seriously? _I don't know where everyone gets the idea that _I'm_ the girly one. _What?_ If you make fun of my knitting, I will stop cooking, I swear to God, Zack."

They should do _something_ to stop eavesdropping, but this was turning out to be kind of hilarious. Sebastian was happy it had happened when it did. The level of tension in the room had risen until it felt like they were all drowning in it. He was ready to declare this Zack kid his hero, right now.

"Okay, fine. Really? I can't believe you, you're just so . . . Oh, never mind. Yes, if it's that freaking important you can come pick me up. Yes, fine. No, not really. I _am_ telling the truth, I'm not mad. I don't mind coming home, I'm just not looking forward to the stairs. No, you may not _carry_ me! Okay. I'll see you soon. Bye."

Averil limped back into the common area to find every single one of them smirking at him. "What?" he snapped, blushing. "I've been hit by a car, gotten life-threatening pnuemonia, and fallen out of a window in the past few months! He's allowed to worry! What are you guys doing, listening to private phone calls, anyway?"

Finn was hiding a snigger (poorly). Lee looked up at his brother with his lips twisting like he was trying to contain his own laughter, and spoke like he was quoting someone. "When they're both girls, they're both just called the girlfriend." Then he collapsed into laughter with Finn, and Averil started shouting at them, which made Caleb sigh and throw his arm over his eyes.

Sebastian felt like he was finally getting to see what it was like for them when things were normal. They'd never had a real family, and even though they never talked about that, Sebastian had known since they were small that Finn desperately needed one. Sebastian only needed him; Finn needed these people. If they could just get him to stop carrying around this awful load of guilt, then he could move forward with this. With Caleb, maybe.

Sebastian wanted to say he needed to observe Caleb. Get to know him. Find out X, Y, and Z, and see if Caleb was good enough for his brother. He wanted to say that. But it wasn't true. With this guy, what you saw was what you got, and Sebastian had already seen enough. It wasn't about being "good enough" or anything else. It was as if Finn was a puzzle piece that people had tried to jam themselves against his entire life, and suddenly Caleb was there as the matching piece. He didn't fit perfectly, not right now. All those other people had frayed Finn's edges a bit. But with a little work on those edges, they'd be perfect.

It was enough to make a guy feel pretty depressed about his own life.

Sebastian shook that thought away, dismissed it because it was ridiculously unimportant right now. "So, Zack's coming here, then? I'm glad I'll get to meet everybody tonight."

"Not everyone," Finn said, looking at Lee. "You'll still need to meet Sara."

"Oh, right, your girlfriend."

"No," Lee said automatically. "Um, she's just . . . next door. She's asleep right now. But can she come over for breakfast? She needs to start trying to eat more, and I know she'll eat to be polite if nothing else."

"Do you want me and Zack to wait until later, then?" Averil asked.

"No, no, you can still come early. You can have breakfast, too."

Averil grimaced. "This is _Zack_. That means I have to be the one to _make_ breakfast."

Sebastian figured there must be a story behind that one. "Can I help?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound too eager. He hadn't had the opportunity to cook anything that wasn't traditional Italian food in so long that the need to create something had him jumping out of his skin.

Maybe it was stressing him out and frustrating him more than he'd realized. Maybe _that's_ where the joint pain and migraines were coming from. Didn't explain the constant exhaustion, though. Speaking of which, it was _way_ past his bedtime. He didn't care if he was sharing Finn's bed or sleeping on the stair landing outside, so long as he got to sleep. As soon as Zack had picked Averil up, Sebastian was going to pass right out. Cleaning up the mess they'd left behind them eight years ago was something to worry about tomorrow.

* * *

Finn completely ignored Caleb and slid into his own bed without a word. Caleb decided that he wasn't going to spoil the silence by commenting on the sleeping arrangements. When Sebastian had agreed to sleep in Averil's bed, he had been signaling Caleb about just how upset Finn was. He'd wanted Finn to feel comfortable about sleeping with Caleb like normal. But Sebastian didn't really know Finn that well, anymore. Being upset made Finn avoid Caleb like he was carrying plague.

Again, he held his tongue when Finn woke up a few hours later, panting for air, hair damp with sweat. He lay on his side, facing the door, and waited for Finn to just give up and come to him and let him soothe Finn back to sleep.

Finn never came.

Caleb woke up early in the morning and found that Finn had somehow snuck past him and left. He was curled up on the sofa, dozing off with a book in his lap. What Caleb really wanted to do was pick him up by the throat and shake some sense into him. Instead, he took Finn's book and marked his place, then went to start a pot of coffee.

Sebastian emerged from Lee's room shortly after that, bleary-eyed and hair flying out in all directions. It was interesting to look at Sebastian and compare him to Finn. Their hair was just the same, but Finn was only bleary like that when he was drunk. It was all part of how good he was at hiding himself.

"You are my god," Sebastian mumbled when Caleb held out a mug.

"Do you like this shit?" he asked, indicating the disgustingly sweet caramel creamer he was pouring into Finn's cup.

"Only if the coffee's bad."

"We're poor college students," Caleb said.

"Then yes," Sebastian grinned, adding a dollop to his coffee before folding his lanky body into a chair at the table. "Thank you."

Caleb just grunted and carried the mug to Finn, knowing he was awake even if he hadn't moved.

"Here."

Finn accepted it wordlessly, and Caleb went to get himself a cup—straight black, thanks very much. Sebastian was watching him, plainly curious about something but unwilling to ask.

"Just say it, whatever it is," Caleb grunted. He did not have the patience for games like that.

Sebastian shook his head, but there was a smile on his face. That was another interesting comparison. Finn had only smiled like that maybe a handful of times, ever, and it always had something to do with the kids. That sort of soft look seemed to be normal for Sebastian. Caleb was really not happy to learn that him, handing Finn coffee, put that soft smile on Sebastian's face.

Lee shambled out and headed straight for the rapidly emptying pot of coffee. "Morning," he yawned.

"Thanks again for letting me use the bed," Sebastian responded.

"No problem," he said, taking his coffee—also black—and joining Sebastian at the table. "I'm not even used to having that room to myself yet."

"I hear you," Sebastian said ruefully. He and Finn must have shared a room growing up.

"Did you tell them yet?" Lee asked in a voice that seemed compassionate, which was odd.

Sebastian's hands clamped down tight on his mug. "No."

"You said you would. First thing."

"Finn's not even awake yet," Sebastian pointed out desperately.

What the hell? What did he have to tell them, and why did Lee already know?

"I'm awake," Finn said, standing up and coming over to the table. "What's going on?"

Sebastian looked desperate, but Lee was glaring at him. Damn, they must have had some serious bonding experience after everybody went to bed.

"Sebastian's going to roll up his sleeves now," Lee said firmly.

While Caleb was still busy wondering what the hell that meant, Sebastian was obeying Lee, his head hanging down in shame. When Caleb caught sight of the scars, he finally understood, and knew why Lee was so insistent that Finn be told. Lee had a twin of his own, after all. On his left arm, the scars were thick and layered, while there was only one on his right arm and it was small and pale. He'd been serious about dying, if he'd cut one wrist so badly that he'd crippled himself and couldn't cut the other.

Finn made an animalistic, whimpering sound. Then he ran right out the front door.

A second later, Caleb recovered enough to chase him down. He hadn't gone far, he was sitting curled up on the concrete landing of the stairs outside, arms wrapped around his body like he was trying to hold himself together.

"No, no, no," he was whispering.

Caleb stood silently. There didn't seem to be anything he could do. But Sebastian was right behind him, and he flew past Caleb to crouch down beside Finn and latch onto him.

"I'm sorry."

"No," Finn whimpered.

"I'm so sorry, Finn."

"Just like Mom. Why would you do it like Mom?"

Sebastian jerked back at that, eyes wide. "I didn't. I mean, did I? I didn't know that's what she . . . oh god, I'm so sorry."

Finn's eyes were locked on something that was not there. It chilled Caleb to the bone to see his eyes look so blank. Was he finally going crazy? "Did you do it in the bathtub, too?"

"_What_? Finn, you should have _told_ me. You never told me, I . . ."

"Why'd you do it?" Finn asked, head swinging around to finally look at Sebastian. Caleb was desperately relieved, no matter how bad this conversation was. Finn had looked like he was in the middle of a nightmare, but now he seemed to be pulling himself back.

"I just . . . Italy was really hard for me. I went there to fulfill the dream, you know? But you weren't there, and it felt like everything I did was useless . . . I guess I gave up. I didn't want to keep going for no reason. But then you were there."

"What?"

"When I . . . did it. I was on the floor, and I looked up, and you were there. You told me to get up. You made me stand up and go knock on my neighbour's door, and then you disappeared. I mean, I know I was hallucinating, but it seemed like you were really there. It made me feel like there was some hope again. Reminding me that you were there, looking out for me. After I got out of the hospital, I moved back here. I didn't know what I was going to do, but I wanted to be in the country." Sebastian rubbed his hand over the scars. "If it helps at all, I'm really ashamed of myself." Finn looked torn, like he didn't know what he wanted to do. Then he looked up at Caleb. Caleb remained standing still, not sure what Finn was looking for but feeling pretty damn sure it wasn't for him to figure out.

Finn gathered Sebastian against him, looking suddenly protective. "It in the past now, so it doesn't matter anymore." He was still looking at Caleb.

Was it really wrong that hearing those words coming out of Finn's mouth made his mouth look incredibly appealing?

Wait. What the hell? He did _not_ just think that.

"Uh, good morning . . .?"

Yuri's voice had to be the most welcome interruption in the history of the world.

"Are you guys okay?"

They all looked up the stairs, to where Yuri stood in jeans and bare feet, peering curiously down at them from his front door.

"We're fine," Finn answered. "Yuri, come down here, there's someone I want you to meet."

"Don't be an idiot," Caleb said. "We're coming back up now."

"Right. I guess Lee told Sara you guys had company," Yuri said affably, remaining where he was. "Any friend of yours is a friend of . . . Wow. Hello."

"Sebastian."

"Yuri. Nice to meet you."

"It's nice that we don't have to go through all that 'So how do you know each other?' stuff," Sebastian joked as they shook hands. "Feel free to express your shock that I exist, it won't hurt my feelings."

"I like to believe I have tact," Yuri said with a wink.

"Are you the one with the sister that Lee's in love with?"

Lee's head suddenly poked out of their own (open) front door. "Hey!"

Yuri laughed. "No, I'm just the boyfriend."

"You're not 'just' anything," came Sara's voice, and she walked up from behind Yuri and took his hand. She'd obviously been getting ready for the day, since she was already wearing shoes and one of her hats. "I'm his sister-in-law," she said to the audience at large. Then she gaped at Sebastian. "Oh, _wow_."

Sebastian, thankfully, was fairly gracious about getting stared at by everyone, and he just laughed. Then he dropped to one knee. "I've been informed that you're a princess," he said gravely, and kissed Sara's hand.

"Oh, great, _twin_ idiots," Caleb mumbled, then brushed past the entire bunch of them to get back inside. His feet were freezing. "Yuri, there's coffee if you want some."

"Thanks, but I'd better start some over here so Tom doesn't kill everyone when he wakes up."

"Why are you all outside?" called another voice. Averil was coming, yanking himself up the stairs by the metal banister. Zack was right behind him wearing a mulish expression. They'd found out last night that Zack was not a fan of Averil and stairs, and that his offer to carry Averil was entirely serious. Averil's refusal to be carried was also entirely serious, and it made for some pretty hilarious arguments.

Caleb was starting to feel like this was a sitcom or something, with people just showing up all over the place. This did not improve his mood. "I'm making more coffee," he said decisively. "If you're going to be over here having breakfast, then get over here now. I'm closing the damn door."

Yuri disappeared for a moment, then returned with a purse in his hands. He shoved it into Sara's hands. "It's Tom's day off," he said by way of explanation. "We'll see you much, much later." He gently closed the door in her face.

Sara turned bright red, then mechanically marched into the apartment behind Caleb. "I did not need to hear that," she mumbled.

Yeah, neither did the rest of them.

They all trooped inside, and Caleb shut the door with finality. He didn't even have to make more coffee, because Finn was already taking care of it, while the four teenagers were milling around talking about their plans for the day. He and Sebastian, who was sitting quietly in the armchair, looked at each other with perfect understanding. If there had been any way to get out of this madhouse and go somewhere quiet, they'd have done it in a heartbeat. It was great that Sara was getting better. Also great that Averil had been found. Having Sebastian show up was an answer to prayer. But for a moment, Caleb kind of missed the silence that had accompanied Lee's and Finn's problems.

It actually turned out to be fairly quiet, with most of them lounging around in the living room drinking coffee while Sebastian and Averil went to work in the kitchen. Hearing the two of them chattering about proper knife handling and the correct type of pan for cooking omelettes was sort of amusing, in fact. Out of everyone, he wouldn't have guessed that over-the-top Averil would be the one who got along with someone as low-key as Sebastian. But the two of them were in their element, happily chopping things and talking about Sebastian's school. It was the first time Caleb had seen Sebastian relax since he'd gotten here.

Finn was another story. He was not even close to relaxing. He ate the fairly amazing breakfast casserole with robotic motions, not seeming to taste it. It wasn't the lack of sleep, either, nor even the revelation that Sebastian had attempted suicide recently. He was just worrying about when this Arthur guy showed up.

And when the four teenagers finished cleaning up and began heading out the door, Finn grabbed Zack and pulled him aside.

"I don't know if Averil told you what's going on around here or not."

Zack looked at him silently.

"I don't want Lee to come back here. If you can take him back to your house . . ."

"_No_." That one word from Lee seemed to reverberate around the room.

"Lee—"

"_No_, Finn. This is family business. I'll be here."

Caleb found himself ruffling the kid's hair, even though Finn's lips pressed together with disapproval.

"We'll see you later, then," he said, herding them out. As suspected, when he turned around, Finn had tears standing in his eyes and his lips parted with a painful breath. "It's his decision. What did you think he was going to say, dumbass?"

Finn apparently didn't think anything. "I'm going for a walk," he said in a hollow voice.

He disappeared through the front door again, and he stayed gone for a long time. Caleb and Sebastian looked at each other awkwardly, then Sebastian asked him if the motorcycle parked by Finn's car was his. That warranted half an hour outside, admiring each other's rides and talking specs. But they were pretty half-hearted about it, and after a while they went back upstairs. They just watched TV, and both ended up dozing off because of their late, restless night. Lee and Sara returned before Finn did. Caleb heard them saying goodbye in the hallway before Lee came in.

"How's she doing?" Caleb grunted, swiping a hand over his eyes to wake himself up.

"She's really tired," Lee said, but he put on a brave smile. "She had a good time, though."

"She's gonna need another transfer, isn't she?"

Lee's brave smile did not falter, despite knowing that he'd be going through the painful procedure again. "She might. But she's doing a lot better already."

"Somebody will stay at the hospital with you next time," Caleb said. "Sorry about last time."

"It wasn't a big deal." As usual upon coming home these days, Lee went straight to the fridge and began rummaging for food. "Where's Finn?"

"He went for a walk. He'll be back soon."

Nobody commented on the fact that Finn wasn't really the type to go on walks.

Lee suddenly pulled his phone out of his pocket and read a text message. "Tom and Yuri went out. Sara says she's fine, but I'm gonna check on her in a few hours."

"Hey, kid."

"Huh?" Lee responded, turning around with his mouth full of something.

"When you go over there . . . you should hang out for a while."

Lee frowned at him. "Caleb—"

"I'm not trying to leave you out of anything," he interrupted Lee's protest. "Somebody should stay with Sara. Just in case."

That got to Lee like nothing else would. Caleb was all for the kid being allowed to be here defending his "family" but he also didn't really want the kid to get hurt. He _was_ still just a kid. Caleb didn't think this Arthur guy was going to be terribly physically imposing or that he was going to beat on Lee or anything. But his hold over Finn was clearly an emotional thing, and Caleb kind of wanted to protect the respect Lee still had for Finn. He didn't need to be subjected to whatever crap that guy had to say.

Besides. Someone _should_ be with Sara. Just because she had spirit didn't mean she wasn't just a kid, too.

* * *

Finn walked in the door about half an hour later. All three of them were sitting in front of the television, although none of them were watching it. Lee had just finished emptying a bag of rice cakes and was falling asleep, while Caleb and Sebastian were talking about Caleb's baseball career. Caleb had just told him that he was going to follow Finn, wherever he was going, and hope to get on a minor-league team. Sebastian hadn't been able to speak to answer, so he just gripped Caleb's shoulder.

Finn looked at them and raised an eyebrow. "You two move fast," he said. "But he's a good guy, Bast, you have my blessing."

"If you're just going to be a dumbass, then be a quiet dumbass," Caleb growled.

Finn just stood there for a moment, looking tired and ragged. Then he wandered back to the bedroom, presumably to finally change out of the shirt he'd slept in. Caleb had given one of Finn's shirts to Sebastian, figuring he wouldn't mind. The cat was out of the bag with his suicide attempt, so the short sleeves didn't really matter—although Sebastian did keep covering his left wrist with his hand or hiding it beside his leg.

Finn emerged with his hair combed and nice clothes on. Right. Like that was going to make a difference.

"Didn't you have to work today?" Caleb asked him.

"I already went down there and told them I was taking a week off."

"Tch," Caleb snorted at the idea that Finn could just walk in there and tell them something like that. "Why a week?"

Finn plopped down between them and clutched Sebastian's arm. "So I can spend time with him, of course!" he said brightly.

He hadn't told a lie so blatant, in such a false tone of voice, in forever. It left Caleb speechless. Lee had woken back up and was looking sort of sick. How could he possibly think that shit still worked on them?

Then, from next door, they heard a loud thump and a muffled shriek.

Lee shot up out of his chair. "Sara!"

"_No_," Finn breathed out, pressing one shaking hand to his head. "You're such an idiot," he said softly, but it seemed like he was talking to himself. "Shouldn't have left her alone." He stood up, his face set in a blank mask, and strode forward. They all fell in behind him. But none of them got far, because the door opened before any of them reached it.

A man stood there in the doorway. He had black hair and strangely kind-looking eyes, with a noticeable scar on his forehead. Not that any of that mattered. What mattered was that one of his hands held Sara's arm in a bruising grip, and the other was tight around her slender neck. And he smiled when he saw them.

He was insane.

"I noticed this girl was important to all of you," the man said cheerfully. "So I'm holding onto her for a while."

"Why?" Finn asked. Caleb didn't believe the calmness he projected. It was an act, disguising something so deep and fundamental that even Caleb didn't want to challenge it.

"Because I didn't think you'd let me in, otherwise."

"Let her go."

"Am I invited in?"

"Whatever you want, just put her down."

Arthur stepped into the room, still holding Sara beside him. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, and she moved carefully so she could breathe. But her jaw was tight with anger rather than with fear. He didn't let her go. He stepped carefully around Caleb's duffel bag, where it still rested on the ground by the door, and he closed the door with his heel.

"What are you doing?" Lee asked, and his voice crackled with danger.

It was like it had been with Seth. Lee suddenly seemed to grow larger. Not exactly taller or more broad. Just _bigger_, his posture suddenly screaming _"do not fuck with me." _It should have been laughable, on someone his size, and a kid to boot. But it wasn't.

"Just making sure things go the way I want them to," Arthur said, still smiling.

"Let. Her. Go."

Arthur ran his hand over her arm, making her shudder and buck to get away. She was caught short by the hand around her neck, and made a retching gasp for air. Lee let out a battle cry and ran forward, while Caleb made an attempt to grab him and keep him from doing so. Arthur did let her go, then. He shoved her into Lee, sending both of them crashing to the ground.

"He's a funny boy," Arthur said, smiling at Finn. "He's a friend of yours, then?"

Finn made a growling noise. "Leave them alone, Arthur. They're _kids_."

Lee struggled upright again, holding Sara against his side. She had her hand pressed tightly to her forehead, and they could see the knot rapidly forming there. There was murder in his eyes.

Arthur didn't even pay attention to Lee, which deepened Caleb's suspicion that the man was truly out of his mind. There was something just not-right about how easily he could ignore Lee's anger. "As you wish," he told Finn.

"Just tell me what you're doing here."

"I only wanted to talk," he said, affecting a hurt innocence. "I keep trying to call you, but you've been so rude to me."

That made Caleb growl. He knew what those phone calls were like. It was Sebastian who spoke, though.

"Imagine that, Arthur. Rude to you. I can't think why."

Arthur seemed to focus on Sebastian only with great reluctance. "I note your sarcasm, dear boy, but I don't know where it comes from. I never thought you were that sort of person. You're being rude, as well."

"Oh, now, where did I leave my manners?" Sebastian asked. "Was it . . . It must have been . . ." He touched the scar on his cheek. "Around here?"

"Sarcasm still noted, but I am not any less confused."

"This is from what you did to me," Sebastian said in disbelief. "This is from that knife."

"Knife, Sebastian? I don't know what you're talking about. I think I would remember using a knife on your face."

"Oh, I remember it pretty well," Finn said, his face and voice hard.

Arthur blinked. He was genuinely surprised. He seriously didn't remember what he'd done? Caleb had half a mind to feel sorry for the guy, because being that crazy couldn't be fun. But he'd still made the decision to come down here and choke a little girl just to intimidate them, and that negated any possible sympathy. Well, that, and the knowledge that he tended to beat on young boys on the mere suspicion of homosexuality.

"Did I?" he mused. "I _told_ you I was dangerous. You shouldn't have stayed with me."

"Oh, now it's their fault?" Caleb heard himself drawl. Damn, he'd planned to stay out of it unless they really couldn't handle it. But to have this guy trying to reinforce Finn's guilt issues was just too much.

Arthur's gaze fell on him sharply. "You're Caleb Hawke, aren't you?"

God only knew how he'd found out his name. As far as Caleb was concerned, God could remain the sole being with that knowledge, because he wasn't going to ask. But Arthur didn't really care about him, anyway. He had eyes only for Finn, and he seemed to consider the rest of them mere interruptions.

"You lied to me, Finn. You _lied_ to me."

"I couldn't tell you he was my roommate," Finn said flatly. "I don't want you near anyone I care about."

Arthur sneered at him. "You're still trying to lie, but I am not as ignorant as you think I am. He is not your 'roommate.' Oh, Finn," he sighed, sounding grieved. It was actually really creepy; it was like he thought he cared about Finn. "You told me when I took you in. You said you didn't like what they did to you. You said you wouldn't do it again."

Finn's face was so hard and cold it could be made of stone. It left no doubt as to what Arthur meant. _"Don't touch me,"_ Finn said when he woke from those dreams. He must have been very young, if it was before he'd lived with Arthur. He'd been abused, and it sounded like Arthur was making fun of him for it. Caleb itched with the need to knock the teeth out of the rat-bastard's smug mouth, but he was still hoping they could get him out of here without violence.

"You told me you liked that girl. You said you _liked _girls. You were supposed to stay with her. I wanted you to marry that Elda girl."

"I was not going to marry Claire," Finn contradicted, in that same flat voice.

"Oh my _god_," Lee whimpered.

This was not the time to be victorious, but damn, he was good. He _knew_ that Finn knew Claire Elda.

Arthur looked at their faces, and he smiled viciously as he stepped closer to Finn. "You didn't tell them, did you?" he crooned. He stroked his hand down Finn's cheek, and Finn shivered with revulsion. Whether he was repulsed by Arthur or by himself was up for debate. Probably himself. This was Finn, after all. Why didn't he just slap Arthur's hand away and tell him to shut the fuck up? Why couldn't he just do that for himself?

Then Arthur's hand snagged in his hair, viciously, and he forced Finn to turn his head to look their way. "Tell them, Finn. Tell them what you are."

Finn's eyes were squeezed shut in his pale face, and he shook his head as best he could with his hair caught in that tight grip.

"You're a liar, aren't you? And a whore. That's what Finn is, you know," he addressed the rest of them almost cheerfully. Caleb wanted to throw up. "He whored himself out, then he had the audacity to lie to me and say that they forced him to, that he didn't want it. But it was all lies, wasn't it, Finn? You like that kind of thing. You told me you hated it." Arthur shook Finn's head, which had to hurt. "You traitor. You're with _him_, aren't you? You're sick."

"_Him_," meaning Caleb, he supposed. God, this guy was seriously fucked up. He was crooning like he was talking to a small child, his eyes still kind and almost generous. His words were pure poison.

"Tell them, Finn. You should tell them everything. You're a failure, aren't you? You know you are. You wanted to protect all those people, but you couldn't help a single one of them, could you? You couldn't tell them, could you? You knew they'd despise you and turn you away. But it's too late, now. Tell them. Tell them you steal, and you lie, and tell them what you did for those other men. You liked it, didn't you?"

Finn hadn't opened his eyes, so he didn't know, but Caleb saw that Sebastian was slowly stepping backward. Not away from Arthur. Toward the table. Toward his jacket. Toward his gun. Caleb didn't want that to happen. He knew what guns did. He'd _done_ it. That meth dealer probably couldn't even feed himself without help, after what Caleb had done to his hands. He didn't want a gun in this situation, not unless he was the one wielding it. Because he knew what a gun did, and he was the one who could make a decision about when to use it.

"Listen, asshole," Caleb ground out through clenched teeth. "What's the point? Why are you talking about this? Why are you even here?"

"I only want Finn to come home," Arthur said, sounding surprised that he had to ask. "And he will, won't you Finn? He'll come home with me because he can see in your eyes how sick he is. He'll come home and let me fix things. I can remind him of who he's supposed to be. He's supposed to be rich and important, now. He told me he would be. He lied to me, even though I loved him so much. He's such a liar—" Arthur said it almost lovingly, his free hand touching Finn's throat like he meant to choke him as he'd choked Sara "—and such a little whore. Does he work for a living? Or does he just—"

Caleb had heard more than enough, and Finn wasn't going to lift a finger in his own defense. He heard himself growl, and took a step forward. He'd probably have to hurt Finn some to get him away from Arthur, but he didn't care so long as the end result was Finn with him and Arthur the hell out of here.

That was when Arthur decided that the situation called for a weapon. He bent down quickly, taking Finn with him since he was still holding his hair, and he came up yanking the baseball bat from Caleb's bag. Caleb had been on the verge of beating this guy to a pulp, but he stopped for a moment. That wasn't a kid's toy, Arthur could really do damage with that.

"Okay, man, what the fuck? There's no reason to—"

"That's enough, Arthur," Sebastian said behind him, his voice shaking.

_Oh, shit_.

"Sebastian, what are you doing, child?"

"I'm pointing a gun at you, Arthur. Put the bat down. And my brother. Put them down right now."

Finn's eyes now opened wide, and he gave Sebastian a pleading look. Caleb turned his head far enough to see that Sebastian's hands were shaking, and that he couldn't get his bandaged hand in a firm grip. Bleeding fuck. This had just gone from tense to incredibly dangerous.

"Listen, maybe you'd better let me—" Caleb began, but was cut off.

"You don't touch him, or me, or anyone. Not anymore, Arthur." Sebastian was stepping forward slowly, gun trained high. Mistake. Big mistake. Only an expert could make a killing shot to the head like that, and that was with your hands steady and not crippled. Sebastian would miss. And then Arthur would use that bat on him. Caleb was not going to allow his fucking baseball equipment to become a murder weapon.

Arthur _changed, _suddenly. The smile disappeared, and a manic light entered his eyes. His lips twisted with a fury that Caleb didn't think a sane man could feel. He felt his heart start pounding, his body flooding with adrenaline and getting ready to do whatever he had to do. Arthur looked like he just wasn't _there_, anymore. Like that man. The one who had killed his dad.

"Don't tell me what to do, Sebastian," Arthur said.

His arm twisted, and he wrenched Finn down to the floor, making the gun jerk in Sebastian's hand, but he really didn't have it in him to shoot anybody. Arthur swung the bat out and knocked the gun out of Sebastian's poor grip, sending it flying into the TV then to the floor. Caleb itched to pick it up and get it safely out of anyone else's hands, but he didn't dare take his eyes off Arthur right now. Sebastian was staring at his empty hands in shock and seemed pretty much useless, but Caleb saw that Lee had let go of Sara. Shit.

Lee didn't say a word. He just leapt forward to wrench the bat out of the man's hands. He actually got a grip on it, but since Finn stayed kneeling on the floor looking numb, Arthur had both hands free. He yanked it away from Lee, then thrust out and knocked him in the chest, sending him stumbling back and coughing for air.

"I've had enough," Caleb said.

But Arthur was faster than he'd expected, and he couldn't dodge the swing. The bat caught Caleb across the ribs, and he heard a truly sickening crack. It took him to his knees, and he clutched desperately at his side, the pain threatening to overwhelm him. Sebastian took a hit to the stomach that sent him back into the table, which he tripped over and went down. Caleb knew he had to get back up, so he shoved the pain aside. He tried to take a deep breath, but he couldn't. His breath was ragged and it hurt way more than it should. He looked up at Arthur.

"See what you've caused now?" Arthur said to Finn, who knelt at his feet. "You deserve this." He started to swing.

And time stopped for Caleb. The world became white noise. He saw what was happening, and he had time to register all of it and make his decision. He saw the trajectory of the bat, saw that Arthur would not miss. Because Finn would not move. He would stay there on his hand and knees, his head hanging in shame and presenting a willing target for Arthur's nonsensical rage.

Caleb had just felt how hard Arthur could swing.

If the bat connected with Finn's head, he would die.

Caleb was on his knees, he couldn't get up in time. He was twisted too far away to simply go for Arthur's legs. He saw that there was only one way to stop it. But to do so would mean . . .

No. It was the choice between Finn living and Finn dead.

It was no choice at all.

Time restarted.

Caleb flung himself sideways, his muscles screaming with tension as they obeyed his command to _move, move, movenowdammit_, and he lunged toward Finn, stretching as far as he could and sweeping his arm out desperately. The bat came crashing down, and the shock of its impact rattled Caleb's whole body and made it feel like his teeth were sparking. For a moment, everything was entirely numb, and he stayed there on the ground feeling nothing at all.

Arthur was just staring at him, dumbfounded, because he'd heard and felt the crunching impact and yet Finn was still there on his hands and knees, gaping up at him. Caleb took advantage of this moment, knowing it was the only one he'd get, and knowing that it was already ending, and knowing that Arthur was going to kill them all if he didn't do something. He scrambled backward, shoving himself with his legs, reaching behind him with the only hand he could currently use.

He grabbed the gun. His fingers clenched around it hard and he sobbed as the numbness disappeared all at once and the pain crashed over him. He clenched his teeth so tightly that his jaw creaked, forcing the pain aside as much as he could. He turned around, gasping for air he couldn't seem to get and seeing stars and willing himself to hang on for one more second, just _onemorefuckingsecond_.

"Shut up," he panted. Then he shot three rounds into the bastard's head.

Arthur fell backwards, dead. Caleb held on long enough to see that, then he dropped to the floor. His shattered arm fell limply against him, and he finally blacked out.

* * *

When Finn looked at his loved ones, laying wounded on the ground around him, he was quite certain that Arthur had killed him and that he was in hell.

But when Lee scooted toward him, calling his name, he realized that you didn't have to be dead to be in hell.

"Finn. Finn, look at me."

He slowly swiveled his head to look at the boy, his brain not quite believing what his eyes told it.

"Finn, are you okay?" Was he okay? What a foolish question. Caleb . . .

He'd spoken aloud, hadn't he? "Caleb," he said again, crawling forward. "Oh god, please, Caleb."

He didn't move. He lay there like death. His skin, always glowing with good health, was pale and clammy. It made it so Finn couldn't think. He couldn't _breathe_.

"Finn!"

"What, Lee?"

"Sara called the police."

Finn looked at Sara, who was crouched against the wall, looking sort of wild in the eyes. She had a huge purple-red knot on her forehead and a ring of darkness brushed over her throat. She clutched her cell phone in both hands.

"Caleb shot him. He's dead."

That was significant, somehow. Finn knew why it was significant to him, felt it in the pit of his stomach and what little seemed to remain of his mind, but he didn't know what it meant to Lee.

"He's going to be arrested, Finn."

Oh, dear God. That hadn't even entered his brain yet. He was stuck on worrying that Caleb was badly injured. What if he died? What if Caleb _died_?

"Finn, we have to help him. He needs a lawyer. Get his cell phone, hurry."

Finn suddenly realized what Lee meant, and he did as requested. But to reach into the pocket where Caleb kept his cell phone, he had to move the arm. When he did, he _heard_ it, and he _felt_ it. Caleb's elbow was nothing but a pulpy mass, little chips of bone that grated against each other, the colour of a plum and the size of a grapefruit. Caleb screamed. But he didn't wake up.

Finn was choking as he held Caleb's phone and found his call list with trembling fingers. He found the name he was looking for, and it took him three tries to punch in the command to dial the number. He felt hands on his shoulders, knew it was his brother, but couldn't focus on anything but getting through this phone call so he could pass out.

"Caleb, I haven't heard from you in a year and you managed to call right in the middle of a _Project Runway_ marathon. It had better be good."

"My name is Finn," he whispered when he heard her voice. "Are you Tanya?'

"Uh, yes. Oh my god, _wait_. Are you the really obnoxious roommate?"

"Listen, please, I can't . . . he's hurt really bad and he needs help. Somebody's dead. He needs a lawyer. I . . ."

There was a beat of silence. "I was afraid something like this would happen to him. I sent him away because I thought it would be good for him."

"He was saving _me_," Finn blurted out, and leaned backward, letting his heaving shoulders fall into Sebastian's embrace. "He . . . I can't . . . please, Tanya. This wasn't his fault and he needs help."

"Oh, dear," she said quietly. "You're _that_ kind of obnoxious. He always pretends to hate everyone he cares about. You sit tight, sweetie, we're on the way."

* * *

_**A/N:** This chapter was a nightmare to write. Every part of it has been rewritten more than once. But it's finally done._

_And I don't just mean the chapter. I've finished writing the story! Yay! I ended up needing an "epilogue" of sorts, so there will be a 27th chapter. The good news is that it's already written, I'm just working on editing. So next week, I will post both 26 and 27 for your reading pleasure. Isn't that exciting?_


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

Lee had his arms around Sara, but his eyes were on Finn. It didn't seem to matter what Sebastian did, Finn was beyond being comforted. He knelt beside Caleb, his eyes stark with a grief that was past all bearing. Lee finally saw just how much those two meant to one another. Lee had known that Caleb was upset when Finn got shot, but Caleb couldn't show it. Didn't know how to, maybe. He just got angry. But Finn didn't even seem to know where he was, and it hurt to watch. He didn't feel Sebastian's hands holding his shoulders, or hear Sebastian's voice in his ear. He was lost.

And Arthur was dead. Lee was holding Sara mostly to keep her from looking at the body, which was still oozing blood, slumped against Caleb's duffel bag. Lee shuddered. There was a dead person in his house. They would have to throw that bag away. Caleb's baseball things— would he even need them anymore?— no, he couldn't think like that, he _couldn't_. But the worry was crawling around in the pit of his stomach like something alive. Caleb's arm . . .

Then Lee saw the trickle of blood at the corner of Caleb's mouth, and his arms locked tight around Sara. Caleb was struggling to breathe, he saw. His chest wasn't rising and falling like it should, it was hiccupping, like he was choking, even though he wasn't conscious. Oh god. Internal bleeding? If they couldn't get him to the hospital fast enough, he could . . . _no_, that just couldn't _be_. But Arthur had hit him very, very hard, and it _was_ possible. It would explain the state Finn was in, wouldn't it?

"Lee," Sara whimpered, struggling against his tight hold. "What is it?"

It took him a minute to remember how to let her go. He kept his hand on the back of her head, keeping her from turning and seeing the body.

"Caleb's hurt," he grated out. "It's pretty bad."

Sara cried out and tried to pull away from him, and he tightened his arms. But when she saw Finn, her movements stilled, and a pleading look from her caused Lee to let her go. Then she walked up to Finn slowly, and reached over Sebastian's outstretched arms to put her hand on his head.

"Shhh." Lee was hypnotized by her slow, sure movement. "Finn," she said firmly. "Calm down, now."

"But I . . . if he dies, I . . ."

"He won't die," she said, running her fingers through his hair. Caleb's blood had gotten onto him, and his tears were creating lurid pink streaks on his face as he bowed it and let Sara touch him. "Hush, now." She lifted her fingers calmly and shook away strands of Finn's pale hair—a morbid parody of that day her own hair had started falling Finn's hair had been yanked out by that man. "It's going to be all right, Finn. It's over now."

Sebastian pulled Finn back against him, holding his twin against his chest almost the way Lee used to hold Ril when he was having an attack. Sara went down on one knee beside them so she could keep stroking her hand over Finn's hair and cheek. She was crying, too, Lee realized. She was using her free hand to wipe away her tears. He hurried forward to kneel beside her, but he kept himself turned toward the body. It seemed deeply wrong, somehow, to turn his back on it.

The police arrived first. Guns drawn. When you reported gunfire and crazy people, the authorities tended to take it seriously. Luckily they were already on their knees, all that was left to do was separate from each other and lace their fingers behind their heads. It was stunningly hard to pull away from his companions.

Finn did as he was told, but he was so racked by his emotions that he ended up with his face on the ground, bent in half. "Please," he cried out. "Please just help him. He's hurt."

"This one's dead," said one of the policemen, standing by Arthur.

Sebastian was the one who shuddered at that.

"This guy's in bad shape," said a female officer, who was looking at Caleb. "Where's that fucking ambulance?"

That question was answered almost immediately as the emergency personnel hurried into the room with a stretcher lofted high to get it up the stairs.

"All of you, stay where you are," they were ordered. Lee wanted nothing more than to comfort Sara. She had to be terrified. But he knew better than to move. "Who killed this man?" the woman asked.

"Caleb did, the one they're helping" Lee said after a moment. "That man, he . . . He was hurting us. He was using that baseball bat, you can see what he did to Caleb. He was going to kill Finn. Caleb had to shoot him, he was going to kill at least one of us."

"Where did the gun come from?"

"It's mine," Sebastian spoke up. "It's legal, I promise."

"Don't suppose you have the paperwork for that."

"It's in my apartment. In Calistoga. I'm sorry."

"Whose baseball bat?"

"Caleb's."

"And who the fuck is this guy?"

"His name is Arthur Ortega."

"And just who the fuck is Arthur Ortega?"

"No, I'm not saying anything else right now," Sebastian whispered, his eyes locked on Finn's shaking form. "I want a lawyer."

The cop snorted in disgust and cuffed Sebastian and started reciting his rights, while the male cop was peering down at Lee and Sara.

"Who are you two?"

"I live here," Lee said. "She lives next door."

"Did either of you touch the gun?"

"No, sir."

"What about the bat?"

"No, sir. Well, not today. I've touched the bat before. Caleb takes me to the park to practice, sometimes."

"How old are you, kid?"

"Sixteen."

"How about the girl, how old are you?"

"The same," Sara whispered in a trembling voice. "I'm sixteen, too."

"Where is your legal guardian?"

"What the FUCK?" hollered a voice from outside the apartment. "SARA!"

She closed her eyes in relief. "That's him. That's my older brother. He's my guardian."

"Sara! What's going on? What the— whoa, crap, okay, okay! I've got my hands up, see? I'm not going to do anything. I just want to see my sister. Where the hell is my sister?"

"Tom, I'm all right!" Sara called out, and Lee hoped Tom could hear her from out there. "Tom, I'm safe! Stay calm!"

"Sara, what the hell happened?"

"Uh . . . I'm not sure."

"Okay, okay," the cop said to them both when Tom took up an argument with someone outside. "And you, son, where's your guardian?"

"I don't have one. I'm sorry. I'm emancipated. That's why I live here. I live here with Caleb, the one they're taking to the hospital, and Finn, the one who— who's crying a lot." Lee felt his voice falter on Finn. He was too distraught to even speak to the female cop, who was getting seriously agitated despite how quietly Sebastian was sitting there and behaving. "Please, leave him alone. He didn't do anything. He's just really upset."

The officer who was questioning the two of them nodded to his colleague, and she backed off a step.

"So how did this man come to be here tonight? The man who's been shot?"

"He knows Finn and Sebastian. Those two. He knew them a long time ago, they said. He's really crazy. Or—he was, I guess. Oh, god. Listen. We were just in here watching TV, okay? He went next door and grabbed Sara and started hurting her. He dragged her over here. He was threatening to strangle her if we didn't let him inside. So we did. See what he did to her head and her throat? He came in, and he was hurting Finn. We tried to stop him, and he started swinging that bat around. He hurt Caleb really, really bad. Sebastian got out his gun and told him to stop, but he just knocked the gun right out of Sebastian's hands. Caleb picked it up after he got hit on the arm. I think . . . I think his arm is broken really badly. He shot Arthur, and then he passed out."

"Where were you during all of this?"

"After Sebastian lost the gun, I tried to take the bat away from Arthur. He hit me with it."

"Are you injured? Do you need medical attention?"

"No, sir, I'm all right. But please, let Sara go. Her brother should take her to the doctor. She has leukemia, sir, she's supposed to take it easy and she hit her head really hard—" Lee didn't know when he'd started crying, but that was the moment at which he began in earnest. He was having a hard time speaking. Sara was beside him, crying as much as he was.

"Is that true, Sara? You have leukemia?"

She nodded, and she removed her hat so he could see her head. "But I'm okay, I think. My head just hurts."

"Do you have anything to add to this, miss?"

"Not really," she said, raising her eyes to him, and Lee felt a burst of pride that she was being so brave. "I don't know that man at all. He just came into my apartment, when I was there alone, and he grabbed me and said I was his leverage. I didn't know what he meant. He brought me over here and he was choking me, and he pushed me down. It happened the way Lee said it did. He was hurting us, and I think he was going to kill Finn. He . . . He had the bat . . . He was going to _kill_ him," she sobbed. "Will—will Caleb be in trouble?" The question was ignored. There were five police officers swarming around the apartment now, and the man who'd been questioning them stood up and looked at the woman he'd come in with.

"The kids are fine. I want to release the girl to go with her brother. You, kid, I need some proof of your emancipation. Talk to me. Is there someplace you can go for the rest of the night?"

"I think it would be okay if I went with her," Lee said, hesitating even though he knew that Tom would put up with it. It was more that he was past the point of rational thought right now. Why did everyone want him to think? "But, um, I'd rather go to the hospital, and wait to see how things turn out with Caleb—"

"You're going to be better off just staying with her, okay?" the officer said, looking uncomfortable. "He's going to be under arrest, you won't be allowed to see him."

Lee pressed his forehead into his hand and choked back another bout of tears. He had to get through this. Caleb was going to be okay. He had to think that.

"What about Finn?" he asked hopefully. "Is he allowed to go?"

"We're still working on that," he answered unhelpfully.

Things just swirled around him meaninglessly after that. He didn't remember going to his room and digging in the desk, but he found himself standing in front of the officer and presenting him with the requested documents. Sara had already been escorted out and given over to Tom, and Lee had a sort of afterthought that he should be over there, but his legs wouldn't move. He could hear Molly, the girl from the office, talking to them out there. Her high-pitched, exciteable voice was unmistakable. Funny, he'd never thought about where she lived. She must live here, at the apartments. He wondered if she would call Yvonne and have them all evicted for this.

"Come on, kid, you can go now," the man said to him, leading him carefully on a path out of the apartment. Past the body. They were taking photographs of it.

Lee looked back over his shoulder at Finn. Sebastian had already been taken away, he was under arrest since he wouldn't answer their questions. Finn was standing up straight now, face clear and stoic as he spoke. It was so false, couldn't they see how desperate he was? Lee didn't want to leave him alone like that. But he had no choice, they were making him go, and Finn didn't even turn to see him as he went.

"Lee!" Molly cried out, diving at him as soon as he appeared and clutching at him. "Are you hurt?"

He stared at her. A nice, naïve, sweet girl like Molly shouldn't have to see this stuff.

"No. Sorry. I have to go."

He walked into Sara's apartment and shut the door behind him.

* * *

After Lee had told Tom as much as he knew, Yuri convinced him to leave them alone. Tom wanted to make Sara go to bed, but Yuri made him go to bed, instead. He made them some hot chocolate, but they didn't drink it. All three of them ended up sitting in the living room in silence. After half an hour of tossing and turning, Tom came back out to wait with them.

Lee called Averil, waking him up and scaring him silly. When he heard what happened, he tried to make Zack bring him over, but Lee convinced him to stay put. The police would just want to question him, too, if he came.

Tom decided that Sara would be okay for the night, even though he wanted to take her to the doctor in the morning to make sure her throat hadn't been damaged. She fell asleep in Lee's lap after a while. Lee held her close and stared at the wall. They could hear the voices and tramping feet next door, though it was too muffled to understand. Yuri and Tom eventually dozed off together, crumpled in a heap of limbs on the floor. Lee watched everyone sleep and became sort of numb. His legs were asleep beneath Sara, and his brain had ceased to function. He just waited. He didn't know what he was waiting for.

And then came the knock at the door.

_The police? Maybe it's Finn. No, he wouldn't knock._

Lee carefully eased Sara off his lap and onto the sofa, then limped on his pins-and-needles legs to answer the door. Tom and Yuri fumbled into consciousness as he stepped over them, and they both stood up behind him.

A statuesque woman and a petite teenaged girl waited in the hallway. He didn't recognize either of them. The woman wore dark slacks and a white blouse and was yammering into a cell phone. The younger girl was wearing some kind of ludicrous outfit that involved way too much black lace. She smiled at him.

"Hi. Do you live next door?"

"Uh, yes."

"Oh, good. We're here to save the day, but the police said we had to do it from this apartment."

"Are you Tanya?"

"That's right."

"Thank God," Lee mumbled, opening the door wide enough to admit the two of them. "Is that your sister?"

"In law," Tanya corrected. "That's Susan."

The woman must be used to listening to two conversations at once, because she noticed she was being talked about and lifted her hand in a brief greeting. Her conversation was getting rather stern, he noticed. Tom and Yuri were being quiet, carefully lifting Sara up and sitting on either side of her and just waiting for an explanation.

"I'm Lee," he said. "Finn lives next door, too, but he's still over there. Did they say when they were going to let him go?"

"What are they holding him for?" Tanya frowned.

"I don't know. Nothing. He didn't do anything. Arthur—the dead guy—was hurting Finn, and he was going to kill him. That's why Caleb shot him. They just keep asking Finn questions, even though he's devastated and they should just leave him _alone_."

Lee hadn't thought he was still so close to tears, but he had to stop speaking to keep himself from crying again.

Susan abruptly cut off her conversation and snapped her phone shut. "This Finn person, he hasn't been placed under arrest?"

"I don't think so."

"I'll be right back," she said with a grim look, and marched out of the apartment.

"Don't worry about your friend Finn," Tanya said with a smile. "Susan will take care of it."

"I can't help it," Lee blurted out. "He _loves_ Caleb. I mean, um . . ."

Tanya's mouth fell open with shock. "You mean . . . oh, _wow._ Caleb is actually _with_ someone?"

"Uh, sort of. They used to just be roommates, you know. But Finn almost died a few months ago, and now they're . . . um."

"Caleb is a gigantic idiot," she said with feeling. "I can't believe he didn't _tell_ me."

Susan marched back in, pushing Finn ahead of her. "Assholes," she snorted. "They were making him think he had to stay."

Finn was a sickly, ashen colour, and even his vibrantly blue eyes seemed washed out. He was only moving because Susan was pushing him. What had they been doing to him over there?

"Finn?" Lee asked hesitantly. "Are you okay?"

Finn stared at him like he'd never seen him before. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

"Oh, sweetheart," Tanya said with great compassion. "Come here." She took Finn's hand in both of hers, and led him to the sofa. She didn't have to ask, or even give them a look—Tom and Yuri just automatically stood up, Tom lifting Sara up with him. "Sit down," she instructed, and he obeyed her mechanically. She sat beside him, and kept holding his hand. "Susan, tell them what you found out."

Susan nodded firmly. "Right. I have Caleb's power of attorney, so I was able to talk to the hospital. He's in surgery, still. They were talking about amputating his arm—"

"No!" Lee cried out.

"But I talked them out of it," Susan continued, narrowing her eyes at him. "Mind you, he's not going to get full function of it back. He likely won't be able to grip with that hand ever again, and it remains to be seen whether that elbow will bend. He'll likely have to have more than one surgery. His elbow's just mush, at this point. As for his other injuries, one rib was totally broken and it caused a collapsed lung. Luckily, they got to it in plenty of time, and they'll be able to repair that."

"He's not going to die?" Lee whispered.

"He's not going to die," Susan confirmed. "And if I'm understanding what happened tonight correctly, Caleb was acting in self-defense so obvious that I should have him released on bail before the hospital's even finished with him."

Finn still didn't seem capable of speech, so Lee asked for him. "What about Sebastian?"

"Who is that?"

"Sebastian is Finn's brother. It was his gun, and he was nervous, so he wouldn't talk to the police. They had to arrest him, and he said he was going to get a lawyer."

Susan threw up her hands. "Why didn't anybody mention that _sooner_? Okay, let me see here." She stood still for a moment, tapping her index finger against her lips. "Can I leave Tanya here? You boys don't mind?"

Tom and Yuri might have normally been upset to have their home suddenly invaded, but even Tom had a heart.

"It's fine," Tom said brusquely.

"Great. Kid, did Sebastian _use_ the gun?"

"No, not really. He got it out, but he didn't shoot it."

"Give me an hour, two hours, tops. I'll go get the brother. Should I bring him back here?"

"I guess so," Yuri sighed.

"Right. Tanya, leave your phone on. Amy will freak if she can't reach either of us."

Tanya nodded serenely. "It's on."

"Thanks. I'll be back soon. Try not to create total mayhem, okay?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tanya replied smoothly. "Good luck."

Susan swept out and shut the door behind her with a firm dignity.

"She's great, isn't she?" Tanya said. "Amy's even more amazing, but she has a really important case she's arguing first thing in the morning. She'll be arriving tomorrow afternoon."

"Thank you so much for coming," Lee said fervently. "I didn't know what to do, and . . ."

It was left unsaid that Finn was in no state to be making decisions and trying to procure legal counsel for anyone. Although Finn made it clear a moment later that he _was_ thinking and not just in shock.

"He won't be able to play baseball anymore," he said in a hollowed-out voice. "He'll lose his scholarship."

There was a beat of silence.

"Don't worry about that for right now," Tanya said, squeezing his hand. "That's something to think about a little later, when we get things sorted out."

"But if I hadn't— This is my fault, isn't it?" He sounded strangely bewildered.

"Now that is just an insult to Caleb," Tanya answered, frowning at him. "He is nothing if not capable of making his own decisions. He decided to risk this. And this is something you need to understand, too," she said, softening a little. "I've known Caleb since I was seven years old, and I know he wouldn't have made that decision unless you were worth the risk. So you'd better start working on accepting that now, because if you still think this is your fault when he next sees you, he's probably going to hurt you."

Finn tried to laugh, but it got stuck in his throat and he just choked, instead. "God, I'm so tired," he whispered.

Tanya gently pulled him down until he was leaning over and resting his head on her shoulder. She twined their hands together in her lap, and Finn sighed deeply. Lee felt better, seeing that. It was a bit awe-inspiring, to see how quickly she'd taken charge of him. It seemed to be working, to some extent.

"Right," Yuri spoke up, sounding brisk. "It's going to be a while before anything else happens, so why don't we all get some rest? We're asleep on our feet, here." He looked around at the limited accommodations. "We've got a few extra blankets, and we'll just have to make do with that."

"We'll be fine right here, if that's okay with you," Tanya said.

Lee shrugged. "I'll be fine with the floor."

"I don't want you to sleep on the floor," Sara said in dismay.

Lee gave her a crooked smile. "I've slept worse places," he reminded her. "It's okay. You need to get some sleep, princess, don't worry about me."

There were a few more hasty murmurings, and Yuri gave them the small stack of spare blankets they owned, and then Sara was ushered off to bed and the older couple retreated to their bedroom. Lee spread out the blankets, and suddenly felt as though he were intruding, like Tanya and Finn should have some privacy.

Tanya didn't seem to notice, though. She smiled at him warmly.

"She's lovely," she said.

"Yeah, she is," Lee smiled back.

"Do you really call her princess?"

"Finn started it," he said, eyeing his distressed friend. Finn was being very still and quiet, just resting his head on Tanya's shoulder and allowing her to hold onto his hand. "We sort of vowed to be her loyal knights," he mumbled, suddenly embarrassed by that and electing to busy himself with creating a nest of blankets on the floor. "I'm glad you noticed how pretty she is," he blurted out. "She's been feeling sort of . . ." He couldn't even _say_ the word ugly in relation to Sara, even though that was how she kept describing herself. Her fuzzy head and bruised skin and wretchedly thin state didn't make her ugly, no matter what she said.

"She's been sick, hasn't she? Is it cancer?"

Lee lay down on his blankets and looked at the ceiling. "Yeah. But I gave her my bone marrow, and she's starting to get better."

"I'm glad. But she is definitely the sort of person who's lovely no matter what," Tanya said firmly.

"She's special like that," Lee said, wriggling to get more comfortable.

"Special to you, too," Tanya observed.

"Yeah." He didn't even blush. Maybe he was too exhausted and heartsick to blush.

"I'm sorry," Finn said suddenly, lifting his head. "I'm so sorry she got hurt, Lee." He stared down at where his hand was wrapped in Tanya's. "I should have left before anyone got hurt," he whispered.

"Sara is going to be fine," Lee said firmly. "And it wasn't your fault, anyway. It's not like you blamed me when Seth shot you, right? And if you're talking about Caleb, he'd be the first one to tell you that Arthur could make his own decisions."

"That doesn't take away the fact that he wouldn't have been hurt if I hadn't been here."

Lee looked up at Tanya. "What was Caleb like, when he lived with you?"

"Angry," she said immediately, her eyes sad. "Angry and bitter and cold and distant. I was his only friend and he got into a fight every other day, it seemed like. I made him move here because I thought he needed to be away from us, to see if he could learn how to be around other people."

Lee flicked his eyes over to Finn. He had a distant memory of Caleb being that way, but it seemed like they were talking about some other person. The Caleb he knew was deep and intense and loyal, and the anger was all a front to protect him from the possibility of losing the people he cared about. And out of all of them, Finn had the most to do with that.

"You really think he'd have been better off that way?"

Finn shuddered.

"I'm glad you're here, Finn," Tanya said softly. "I'm glad to have the opportunity to know you. You don't really believe that right now, though, do you?"

"I don't know," he whispered. "I'm not good at belief. But I did finally understand something. If— Even if he had died— I wouldn't kill myself. I wanted to. But I won't. Because I finally see how much my life is worth to him. So I have to—" He stopped and laid his head down on Tanya's shoulder again.

"Let's get some sleep, okay?" she said, speaking as though Finn were a child, and leaning back so he could lean more comfortably against her. And like a child, he obediently closed his eyes and collapsed on her. Lee stood up and draped a blanket over them, then curled up in his nest. Even as troubled as he was, he was so tired that he fell asleep almost immediately.

He woke for a moment when Susan led Sebastian inside. A glance at his cellphone showed him that it was five-thirty in the morning. Susan put her finger to her lips when she saw that Tanya and Finn were both still dozing.

"I managed to convince them that owning a gun does not automatically make you a criminal, so he's in the clear. There's still a few people next door. I'll go see what's happening, and then I'll call the hospital for an update. You guys get some sleep."

Lee stood and gestured for Sebastian to take his makeshift bed. The circles under his eyes looked like bruises, and the golden stubble on his chin made him look ragged. But Sebastian shook his head, scrubbing his hands wearily against his pale cheeks. He crept over Lee's blankets and sat down at Finn's side. The movement didn't actually wake Finn, but he lifted his head and said something incoherent. Sebastian carded his fingers through Finn's hair, and Finn followed the touch to its source, shifting to lean against his brother without even opening his eyes. Sebastian put his arms around Finn and closed his eyes with a weary sigh. Tanya snuffled and shifted in her sleep, and Sebastian reached out with one hand to lay it on her shoulder. She settled down peacefully again.

"Don't wake us up until there's news about Caleb," he said to Lee.

"Caleb," Finn mumbled.

Sebastian sighed again and cradled Finn's head against his shoulder, his sorrow evident. Lee was glad that Sebastian was here, even though things had gone this way. He knew what it was, to have a brother, and he knew they never should have been parted. He'd never understood the way other kids at school complained about their siblings. He'd never understood that it was possible for siblings to _not_ be close, to _not_ be grateful for one another. When you had to fight so hard just to be allowed to be together, it made each moment something meaningful.

Even so, he was glad Ril hadn't been here. It might have been nice to be able to put his head on his brother's shoulder and give in to trembling and shock, but it was better that he hadn't been involved. He'd been hurt enough. It was good that Ril was with somebody who knew that. Zack was, if anything, more adamant than Lee about keeping pain away from Ril.

They'd all been hurt enough, he decided. All Lee wanted now was to be able to keep pain from touching anyone in his family.

* * *

The next few days were awful. It felt like they were in limbo or something. Once Amy had arrived, looking polished and irritable, they'd gone to a hotel. Amy had rented out a big suite, with two bedrooms in it. Finn and Sebastian slept in one, the women in the other, and Lee slept on the very comfortable sofa.

Time dragged on painfully. Tanya left one day to oversee the cleaning of the apartment—she wouldn't let anyone else do it—and Finn drifted around the suite like a lost puppy to entire time she was gone. Not even Sebastian could get through to him. Susan reported that Caleb's surgery had gone very well, that he might not even need another one, and that he was extremely doped up while they watched him for possible infections.

Tanya brought Sara back with her, for which Lee was more grateful than he could say. Talking on the phone when you were so used to just being together was maddening.

"Is Tom pissed at me?" Lee asked as soon as he had her safely in his arms.

"When is he not?" Sara joked.

"No, really."

She shook her head. "I don't think so. He's moved on to being pissed at Tanya for stealing me away."

The girls exchanged a look of shared amusement, obviously thinking about something Tom had done. Lee got a strange feeling they'd been bonding while watching the bloodstained carpet get torn out and replaced. But he didn't mind. Sara had been pretty popular at school until she got sick, and now she had very few friends left. It was pretty hard to know how to be a friend to someone who had cancer, he supposed, but that didn't make him like it any better. Rob, of all people, was the only one who had stuck around through everything. Anyway, he liked Tanya. He hoped she and Sara would be friends.

And clearly they would be. Tanya grabbed Finn so he'd stop shuffling around like a zombie, then grabbed Sara, and the two girls had their heads together in giggly girl conversation in no time. Apparently, Tanya liked to design clothes. _That _was dangerous; Sara loved clothes. It was actually terribly amusing to watch Tanya absentmindedly holding onto Finn with one hand and sketching designs to show Sara with the other.

Ril and Zack came by for a while. Tanya won them over, too, but she seemed to realize that when the four of them got together, they were two couples. She graciously extricated herself after a few minutes and spent the rest of the day with Sebastian and Finn. She and Sebastian seemed to get along really well, actually; Lee heard her teasing him for living in Italy without learning about European fashion and for his (apparently poor) musical tastes. The two of them even got Finn to talk a little.

Anytime the conversation stopped during those few days, the silence became thick and choking. So they just kept talking. It was mostly up to Tanya and Sara to keep everything going, because none of the three men were up for it. Lee felt bad about that—it wasn't like Sara didn't care, and Tanya was the one who'd known Caleb the longest. They were worried, too. But the two of them wore the responsibility well. Amy and Susan, for their part, spent a lot of time on the phone and at their laptops.

It finally happened on the fifth day. Amy and Susan left, armed with briefcases, and they didn't return for hours. The two of them had been taking care of bringing food to the suite, and everyone got hungry when they didn't show up. Sebastian convinced Finn to go with him to get something—Lee had no idea how he'd managed to get Finn to go out, so he assumed Sebastian was secretly a wizard**.**

When the door opened, Lee looked up expecting food, but it wasn't Finn and Sebastian. It was Amy and Susan, supporting a staggering giant between them.

Caleb's cast ran from shoulder to wrist, and his open jacket revealed that he wore no shirt, just a thick layer of white gauze. He was sweating and having a difficult time breathing, but he raised his gaze defiantly.

"I fucking hate hospitals," he declared. "I made them let me go."

His eyes searched the room, and they all knew what he was looking for.

Tanya stepped forward, laying her hand gently on his arm. "He'll be back soon. Come with me."

As they passed by Lee and Sara, where they sat on the sofa, Caleb reached out his good hand for a moment and ruffled Lee's hair.

"Hey, kids. Stop looking like you're going to cry. I'm fine."

He followed Tanya into the room where Finn and Sebastian had been sleeping, and she closed the door. Amy and Susan gave one another looks of deep relief.

* * *

Caleb sat down on the bed with a groan. His arm was already driving him completely insane, hanging stiffly at his side like this. He was mad at Susan. He'd rather they had just cut the damn thing off. He didn't want to go through a series of surgeries and physical therapy and still never regain the use of it. He wasn't one to complain about pain, but this had him pretty much at his limit.

Tanya was gazing up at him with a sweet, soft smile on her face, and Caleb felt suddenly like he was safe at home. He knew he wasn't, it was just a hotel and they were still in California, not Massachusetts. But he felt it all the same. It was Tanya that did it. It was always her.

"Hi," she said softly.

"Mmph."

She laughed. "Oh, good, I was afraid you'd changed so much I wouldn't recognize you anymore."

"Who says I've changed?"

"Well, everyone," she laughed. Her smile evened out, and she looked up at him very seriously. "Have you finally figured it out, Caleb?"

"I don't know," he sighed. "I know I didn't want to kill anyone. All I wanted to do was be able to protect what I cared about. I guess I found out that there are some things I can't protect just by being strong. Killing that guy didn't solve anything." He stopped there. He wanted to see Finn. Now.

Tanya just laid her hand on him again gently. "I'd say you've got the idea," she said. Well, she was just brimming with hope and happiness, wasn't she? "I'm happy to see you, Caleb."

There were noises out there. The door slammed, there were raised voices.

"Let me _through_." That was Finn. Caleb was suddenly frozen. What if . . .?

"Just wait, blondie," they heard Susan say.

Tanya opened the door. "You can come in."

Finn was there. Caleb didn't know what to say. He just waited. Finn would tell him, right? He wasn't shy about telling Caleb that he hated him. He watched Finn walk toward him and felt his heart beating too hard. It actually hurt, although that might be due to his injuries.

Then Finn punched him. Caleb tried not to fall onto his broken arm. The pain in his jaw warred with the sudden confusion in his head.

"What was that for?"

Finn _smiled_. "Call it payback, Hot Shot."

Caleb found himself smiling back. "I'll kick your ass for that."

Tanya rolled her eyes and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Caleb's smile fell. He knew that Finn didn't hate him, but he didn't know what else might lay between them. He didn't know what to say, or if he should say anything. He'd killed Arthur. Finn had cared about Arthur. And Caleb had found out things about Finn that Finn hadn't wanted him to know. He considered it likely that he should keep his mouth shut until Finn told him where things stood.

Finn, too, was silent for a long time. He was just stood there and looked at him.

"I can see that you want me to live," he finally said. "So I will." He stepped forward, and touched his finger to the massive cast on Caleb's arm. "But will you hate me for this?"

Caleb wouldn't have had to kill anybody if Finn had been a little stronger, or a little more able to accept himself. It was just part of the paradox, that he could move mountains if it was for someone else, but his self-loathing had led to this. But Caleb couldn't find it in him to hold that against Finn. Hadn't he just said that he would be trying harder from now on? Caleb was intelligent enough to hear what Finn couldn't say—that he was going beyond just physically caring for himself, that he was going to try to move forward. That's all Caleb had wanted. So what was there to hate, really?

Finn was using Caleb's arm as a way to ask the question, even though there was so much more to it. As for his arm . . . Caleb knew what he'd given up. He'd known when he did it that he'd never play baseball again, and he'd stopped wanting to be a cop a while ago. He realized that he might not be able to ride his bike anymore, if he couldn't get the use of his hand back. He had chosen this. What was Finn truly asking?

"You mean do I think Arthur's right about you? That you're a thief and a whore and a liar and all that?"

Finn closed his eyes and drew his hand back.

"I think you're a liar, anyway," Caleb said. "But since you're not going to do that anymore, then I don't care."

"I'm not?"

"What the fuck would be the point?"

"I guess that's true," Finn said with a bitter laugh.

"Sit down," Caleb commanded him.

Finn did as requested and sat beside him, but his eyebrows were raised to ask why.

"I like looking at people when I talk to them," he growled. "And while I could get up if I was forced to, I think I'd rather just keep sitting if it's all the same to you."

Finn let out a much more genuine laugh at that. "When did you start explaining yourself?"

"Since I realized you don't have a fucking clue why I do anything."

Finn smiled sadly. "I think I get it now."

"Good, then you can explain it to me," Caleb muttered. He didn't know why he did it, either. He knew that Finn was important. He knew that he would take whatever action he had to not to lose him. He just didn't know why it was Finn. He was pretty sure he used to hate the dumbass.

Was it just because Finn needed him so much?

It couldn't be that. Because he needed Finn, too. For whatever reason.

"Can we talk about what's going to happen now?"

Caleb immediately felt trepidation. He wasn't sure he was interested in talking about that. He kind of just wanted to get comfortable with the fact that he wasn't dead and Finn wasn't running away. Obviously Finn's deeper issues weren't going to be resolved overnight, so maybe they could wait another day or two.

"Right now?"

"Well, I thought this would go to trial pretty soon, right?"

Oh. _That_ stuff.

"What's to talk about? You and Sebastian will have to testify, probably Lee and Sara, too. Susan's going to be my legal counsel, which means Amy and Tanya can both write character letters for me. Susan's been quizzing me about everyone I know. She wants Tom and Yuri and Matt Decker to write some letters, too."

"So you probably won't have to go to jail, right?"

"Susan and Amy said so."

"Thank God," Finn sighed. His hand crept out, almost touched him, retreated again. "There's something . . . I think some stuff about my past might come up during the trial. I did a lot of stupid stuff when I was a kid, Caleb. Things . . . Things happened to me. Arthur wasn't exactly wrong."

"That's debatable."

"I want to tell you about it before that. I know that it's not going to make a difference to you, I finally get that. But I'd rather you knew before anyone else did."

Caleb took a moment to gauge himself. He was in pain, but he could handle it. He'd been sleeping for days, so he wasn't tired. The pain made him nauseous, so he wasn't hungry. He figured he could make it through what would inevitably be a long story.

"Okay. If that's what you want."

There was a flash of gratefulness in his eyes before it was lost in a quiet darkness. "I hardly know where to start."

With what Caleb figured was coming, this wasn't going to be easy for Finn. They were, he suspected, about to have a conversation about sexual abuse, among other things. It wasn't something he'd want to talk about, if it were him. But Finn wasn't him, was his direct opposite in just about every way that mattered. That was what had drawn them together to begin with, so he was learning to just let Finn be Finn. If he needed to talk about this, then they'd talk about it. Even if Caleb had to pull it out of him by inches.

"Sebastian said you blamed yourself for everything since you were five years old. You could start with whatever happened when you were five years old."

Finn took up a position with his hands clasped together, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the ground. "Yeah. That was when my mother killed herself."

"In a bathtub."

"Yes."

* * *

"My father died before we were old enough to remember him. My mother told us they hadn't planned on twins. They'd been hoping for a girl, anyway. Instead, they got us. My father died of meningitis, if I remember correctly, and my mother couldn't manage without him. She was miserable. She got on welfare and did nothing but sleep all day. I think that's when Sebastian started learning to cook."

This was already the worst childhood he'd ever heard of. A five year old wasn't supposed to be learning to feed himself just because his mother was too much of a psycho to do it.

"She blamed us for Dad being dead, and she blamed us for being boys and not a girl . . . I don't know what was wrong with her, exactly. I guess she was just depressed. Anyway, she slit her wrists in the bathtub. She always was pretty dramatic. I was the one who found her. I went in to try to wake her up because Sebastian had a nosebleed—he used to get them all the time, but they cleared up on their own. She was just . . . Dead. All I could think of was that I didn't want Bast to see her. I kept him out of her room. I called our Uncle Greg and told him. He and Aunt Denise showed up with the police, and they took us home with them."

But obviously things had changed, since they'd ended up with Arthur. "Why didn't you stay with them?"

"We _did_ stay with them, for five years. Every minute of it was hell," Finn whispered. "They were cruel people. They didn't hurt us or anything. They just made sure we knew that it was our fault Mom was dead. They didn't want us, they hadn't even known they were supposed to take us if anything happened. They said we ruined their lives. Mom said the same thing, so it was nothing new. By this time, I'd already figured out I was a walking curse, that I ruined lives. But I tried to make sure Sebastian didn't believe it. I told him all the time that it wasn't his fault."

And that was why he'd been so adamant about leaving, even if he was too selfish to follow through with it. He'd thought he was going to ruin their lives. Who really went around for twenty-five years thinking they were a walking curse?

"In the end, they died, too. They were murdered, actually. It was a home invasion. It was really late, we were supposed to be asleep. I heard someone outside, I heard them trying to get in. I hid Sebastian in the attic. I didn't know what was happening, but I knew it was something bad. I locked him in there. I heard my uncle shouting. I heard gunshots. I heard my aunt screaming. I finally went down to see, but the thieves had already left. Now that I think back on the level of violence, on the way they ransacked the house, I'm sure they were methheads or something. At the time, I didn't know anything except how shocked I was. It was . . ."

He was staring at the wall. The nightmare. This was the nightmare that made him scream so much. The other ones made him cry, this one was the one that terrified him.

"My uncle was dead already. They'd shot him in the head. But they'd raped my aunt, and she died more slowly. They cut her throat. She was— she was still alive, when I got there. She was trying to breathe. I didn't know what to do. I thought I should call 911, but I wanted to try to help her first. I tried to hold her throat shut. I was a stupid child. I thought it would stop the bleeding if I kept the gash closed. But she died."

"Fuck."

"I think I must have lost track of time. I didn't remember to call emergency or to let Sebastian out until nearly dawn. I must have spent most of the night with their bodies. And I was pretty clever, too, or at least I'd watched a lot of TV. I knew that they'd go apeshit if they found out about that. I didn't want to be stuck in therapy for the rest of my life, and I _really_ didn't want to be separated from Bast because of it. I washed off the blood on my hands before I did anything, and I pretended I just came down and found them dead. They didn't really bother to double-check. It didn't occur to them that I'd lie about something like that. I still had to go to therapy, though—I'd seen the dead bodies of three members of my family. But they figured I was still sane."

This was the nightmare, all right. Did he actually _blame_ himself, somewhere in his twisted brain, for the fact that he hadn't been able to save her? Well, if Caleb was going to call him an idiot for that, he'd be condemning himself, too. He'd spent a lot of time wracked with guilt for not being able to help his mother. He wanted to say something, but the state Finn had fallen into was pretty eerie. He was so casual about stating that he'd been driven crazy by age ten.

"That was when we entered foster care. I guess it was easier on Sebastian, even though it sucked for him. He only had to deal with two foster homes. The first one was awful. They completely ignored him. Forgot about him, even. It wasn't that they didn't like him, it was that they just didn't care. They didn't ask him if he brushed his teeth or did his homework. They didn't even tell him when they were sitting down to dinner. They accidentally locked him out of the house, a few times."

There was a long silence. Because this was the part where things got really bad, Caleb assumed. "What about you?" he asked.

"I was sent somewhere else. That family wasn't so bad, except they just assumed I was really messed up and couldn't be normal. I mean, they fed and clothed me and took me to school, but they were just . . . It was our neighbours, actually. This lady and her little girl. The lady had a drug problem. A serious drug problem. And she was spending all her money on it. Her little girl was starving. She was a couple years younger than me. My foster family never cooked, they always ate out, or I'd have just stolen food for her. But I had to steal their money. I didn't _want_ to, exactly. But when I told them our neighbour was starving her kid, they just said I didn't have to lie to get attention."

"They were fucking morons," Caleb said with feeling. Why did adults always assume kids wanted to lie? So Finn was messed up, so what? What harm could it have done them to at least _try_ to take him seriously?

"Yes, they were," Finn said with a sad smile. "Anyway, that led to my first stay in juvenile correction, at the age of eleven. I was with other kids my age, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been. It didn't last long, either. When they released me, they sent me to a really nice family. Those were the ones I was trying to piss off so much, that I told you about before. I just wanted to be with Bast, but nobody cared. They thought I was a problem child, you know, because I'd been stealing and lying and everything. They started out making me go to therapy, but I refused to talk to the doctor. So that family decided to put me in tae kwon do classes, bless them. I was really, really good at it, and I guess I needed something like that. It helped me focus when I just couldn't take it anymore. I honestly think it's what kept me from going completely crazy. But all of the smoking and running away got to them, so they said they couldn't handle me and sent me back."

Caleb would strangle those assholes, if he ever met them. He hadn't been easy to raise, either, but Amy had never given up on him like that. They could have just kept Finn. They could have listened to him, worked something out with his brother. Would it have been so hard?

"The next family was . . . I don't know. The guy was just always angry. With his own family, he only shook them or slapped them or something. But I was just the foster kid. It was okay if he took it out on me, I guess. He hit me all the time."

"You just put up with it?" For some reason, he found that hard to believe. There was no incentive for Finn to just deal with it, and nothing in this story had convinced him Finn would accept abuse so easily.

"I just wanted to come back to the same place every day," Finn said, sounding defeated. "But you're right, I couldn't take it after a while. I was still studying tae kwon do. He didn't know anything about it, so he didn't know how effectively I could fight back. That helped, for a while, that I could hurt him whenever I wanted, and I just chose not to. It was good to know that it was a choice I was making. So I don't remember _why_ I snapped, exactly. But I remember doing it. He was hurting me, so I hurt him back. I did make a half-hearted attempt to tell the police he'd been beating me, but I didn't think it would make any difference. They'd already decided I was a liar, back when I'd been stealing. They just decided I'd assaulted him because I was a bad egg. So they sent me back to juvie." His hands clawed up on his knees. "It was not a good place," he said in a very small voice.

The tone of voice, more than anything, was what clued Caleb in to just how "not good" it was.

"There was a lot of evil people in there. Real criminals. And I was a pretty little blond thirteen-year-old . . ."

Yeah. Way more than just not good.

Finn's voice hardened up, even sounded sort of flippant. "But it wasn't as bad as it could have been, because I found out how fantastic I am at giving blowjobs. I have been told it's like sticking your dick into another dimension. It's not a skill I'm particularly proud of, mind you, but it kept me from getting raped every day."

The attempt at dry humour was more than just pathetic, it was pure torture to listen to. It only served to make it more clear just how bad it had broken him. That he could talk about it in such a detached way . . . Like it was somebody else he was talking about. Like it hadn't really happened. He'd made a fucking _joke_ about it, and Finn only did that when he was running away from something.

"While I was in there, the family that Sebastian lived with decided to move. Somebody got a job transfer, I think. He got sent back to the state, and that's when he got placed with Arthur. I really don't know how Arthur wound up approved by the social care system. But Sebastian was used to being ignored and unloved. Arthur was the complete opposite, so Bast just latched onto him. But when I got released, I was sent to a couple that kinda made me wish I could go back to prison."

Caleb didn't know how it could get worse than it already had.

"He didn't beat me. He beat his wife."

Oh. That's how. For Finn, that would be way worse. "I couldn't just _watch_. She would make all these excuses for him. She was so stupid, but she loved him. She took whatever he gave her. I couldn't _stand_ it. I saw the way he looked at me. I knew he was interested. So I made a deal with him."

"Fuck, Finn," Caleb muttered.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Two blowjobs a week, and he left her alone. I was already used to it, and if it kept her from getting hurt then I didn't care. I used to talk to Bast on the phone a lot, back then. I kept telling him I was happy where I was. Everything was going great, they were nice people, et cetera. He could tell I was lying, but he couldn't tell what was wrong. It wasn't like I could tell him the truth, you know?"

Because in Finn's mind, it wouldn't have done any good. It would have hurt his brother, but no one would give a shit or help him, because nobody ever gave a shit or helped him. No sense making Sebastian worry. How messed up did you have to be, to think that? Caleb had thought he'd known how screwed up Finn was. Now he was thinking that not even Finn himself really knew how screwed up he was.

"I didn't know how close he and Arthur were getting. I didn't know they were talking about me. I'd talked to Arthur before, when I'd called looking for Sebastian. He'd asked me how I was doing, and I'd told him all the same lies about being happy. But he believed Bast, that I wasn't being honest. So one day when Bast was determined to get the truth out of me, he picked up the other line and eavesdropped on us. We didn't know he was listening. When Bast confronted me, I told him the truth about what was going on with my foster father. By then, the situation was getting worse. It wasn't just twice a week, it was whenever he wanted, and he'd started _touching_ me. I was getting scared. I told Bast I was scared."

"I found out Arthur was listening when he showed up at the front door."

Finn had tears running down his cheeks, now, which fell unheeded. Caleb hated tears, _hated_ them, but he was glad Finn was crying. He was just glad Finn was still capable of crying.

"He practically broke the door down, in fact. I was still on the phone with Bast. He told me to get my things and get in his car. My foster father at the time, the awful one, he tried to pick a fight with Arthur. But Arthur said he'd heard everything, and then he kicked the guy's ass. Just laid into him. I didn't know what to do, so I just did what he said and grabbed my stuff and went with him. I didn't even know who he was, I thought he was a social worker who went nuts or something. But when he pulled up to his house and Bast came running out, I realized who he was. And he said he was keeping me. He carried my stuff inside for me and said he wouldn't send me back to the state. He said I didn't have to go through any more of that. He said he'd have come for me sooner if I hadn't been lying about being happy."

Caleb finally understood the loyalty the twins had felt toward the man. He might have been violent and unstable, but he'd pulled Finn out of hell like some kind of avenging angel. He was Finn's saviour, literally.

"So we lived with him," Finn whispered, finally noticing his own tears and swiping at them. "I was fourteen when he came for me, and we stayed there all through high school. You already know what happened after that."

Yeah, he knew. Finn's saviour had let him down even more than anyone had before. Because Finn had finally trusted someone, finally loved someone, and that person hadn't even hurt him. He'd done the only thing that could possibly be worse. He'd hurt the one thing that was still precious to Finn.

"But I guess I should tell you what happened those last couple of days. I couldn't let him keep hurting Bast, but we were so close to the end of it that it seemed stupid to run away. I decided that I'd pretend I was him. We used to make a game of it, when we were kids. I figured I could still pull it off. So this one night, when Arthur called for Bast, I stole his glasses and went down in his place. I could _tell_ that's why he wanted him, there was something in his voice when he wanted to hurt him. I was just—_terrified_. It had been a few years since anyone had hurt me, and I didn't want to go back to that, but I had to because it was for Bast . . . He believed I was Sebastian. He kept hitting me and telling me I was a disappointment and making me promise to work harder. I was really stuck on making sure he didn't find out it was me. I wanted to stop him, but I knew Bast wouldn't have. So I had to let him beat me up. It was so _bad_. I could barely stand up when he was done. Bast said it wasn't usually like that. It was . . . It hurt."

He wasn't talking about the physical pain of being beaten. That was pretty obvious. He was talking about the fact that the man he'd respected and loved had been doing such a thing to his own twin brother right under his nose. It was safe to assume that was the night Arthur killed any ounce of faith Finn had managed to cling to.

"He'd hit me in the face a couple of times. So I had to work it out with Bast that I would wear his glasses anytime we were all home. I'd have to keep pretending to be him for the rest of the school year. If he found out we'd tricked him, I knew he'd take it out on Bast. So I was prepared to take anything I had to. I'd already arranged for us to take our finals early. I'd already forged Bast's signature and enrolled him in culinary school. I didn't know how I'd make it all work, but I was ready."

Ready for anything but what had actually happened. But that, it seemed, was how life always worked for Finn.

"It was the very next day. Bast finished school earlier than I did, but we were still going to be home hours before Arthur, so we weren't worried. I still don't know why he came home early that day. But he did. He came home before I got there. He saw Sebastian, and he knew it was him, only he didn't have the bruises on his face. Bast was in the kitchen, getting a start on dinner. Arthur grabbed a knife and just went after him. He got him a few times. I remember, because I bandaged him up. On the side, and the shoulder, and then his face. When I came home, I found him sobbing his eyes out on the kitchen floor, covered in Bast's blood. I made him leave. I fixed Bast up, and then I stole the money and sent Bast away. And that was the last time I saw either of them, until a few nights ago."

* * *

Which just left one question.

"What were you doing, before we got the apartment?"

Finn's eyes had not lifted from his feet all this time. They stayed there, even now.

"Going mad, if I wasn't already," he whispered. "I was alone. I had to be. I spent all my time studying. When I ran out of homework, I started working my way through all the great English and American classic literature. Then I taught myself Latin. I'd been studying French in high school, so I finished learning that. I started drinking too much, and trying to learn Old English. I decided to get another degree, and then another. I had nothing I wanted, and nowhere to go. And I guess I'm still doing that . . . I'm a crazy person, you know that? I'm sorry, I guess, but I really can't help it. I'm actually completely nuts, Caleb."

"Yeah, you are," Caleb said plainly, and Finn _finally_ looked up at him. "But it isn't your fault."

Finn let out a wild laugh. "No, I guess not."

"You're not any of that shit that he said," Caleb said quietly. He himself was a strong person, but he wasn't so sure he could have handled that kind of life any better. "You're not a bad person, and it's not like there was anything else you could have done."

"That's not true," he murmured. "You're wrong, I . . ."

"You stole, but you're not a thief. You thought you had to do something awful, but it doesn't make you a whore. The lying part is about right, but what else were you supposed to do? You're a fucking miracle just for surviving, you know that? I don't care what kind of awful shit you think about yourself, because it's wrong. It's your fucked up brain telling you all the wrong things. I understand why you thought you had to lie to me and run away. I get it. But don't do it anymore. Not with me. I'm not going to betray you, and I'm not going to die. You know that, by now. Can you live with it? Are you even capable of just being yourself and not hiding from me?"

"I have no idea," Finn muttered. "I don't know if I even have a self."

He did. He had something that he'd found locked away that let him care about a couple of orphaned boys he found in the street. Boys who might have ended up like him, if not for the fact that Finn had shown up to keep them safe. "You know what your real problem is? You just fucking care too much."

"Is that what it is?" He sounded amused. "If I could change that, I would. I can't seem to break the habit."

Caleb snorted. "Did I say it was a bad thing?"

"After everything I've just told you, how could it be anything good?"

Over the last few months, they'd developed a habit of physical contact. Caleb hadn't really known just how significant that was, but now that he knew, he wanted it back. He wasn't going to finish this conversation with Finn holding himself at a distance like this.

He reached out with his good hand and snatched hold of Finn's shirt. "Because it's one of the things I like about you, dumbass," he said, and dragged Finn toward him. He came with surprisingly little resistance. Caleb pulled on him until Finn was close against his side, and he kept his hand clenched tightly in the cloth of Finn's shirt. Then he blinked.

"Are you wearing Tanya's _clothes_?"

Finn looked down at his own chest. "I didn't have anything clean. She said it looks good on me."

"You're wearing a purple t-shirt. It has _cleavage_."

Finn's look turned pouting. "Would you like it better if I had boobs?"

"_God_, no," he said fervently. "You're a guy. Just be a guy."

"Ooo," Finn crooned in a teasing voice—and Caleb nearly passed out from relief that Finn could still dredge up the old jokes he'd seemed to enjoy so much. It was only just now coming to him the amount of freedom Finn had allowed himself around Caleb. No one else. Just him. "Does Big Daddy think I'm _handsome_?"

"No," Caleb said with conviction.

"Oh."

"You're not _handsome_, that's a fucking stupid word anyway. You're just . . ."

"What?"

"I don't know, beautiful, I guess," he muttered.

Finn's eyes flew wide. "R-really?" he stuttered out laughingly.

"Don't you dare act like a dumbass about this, because I'm never gonna say it again, you got that?"

Finn stared at him. "Dear God, you're serious."

"When did I ever say anything I didn't mean?" he demanded.

"You just said I was _beautiful_."

"Well, you're not handsome, but you're _something_, aren't you?"

"I don't know, am I?" Finn asked in bewilderment.

"This is a stupid conversation. And you talk too much, anyway. I don't want to talk. My arm and my ribs feel like goddamn divine retribution or something. I want to lay down. And since you probably haven't slept in the past week, you're going to lay down, too."

"Actually . . . Tanya's pretty good at making me sleep."

"That doesn't surprise me, but I don't care. I want to sleep."

Finn stared at him. "Are you trying to say that you can't sleep without me?"

Caleb felt himself blushing. So he smacked Finn in the face with a pillow. "I'm saying I'm fucking tired and my arm hurts, so shut the hell up already." He yanked the pillow back and frowned, trying to figure out how to lie down without hurting himself. He suddenly saw why Finn had been sleeping on the couch back then. Without a remote-controlled bed and a bunch of interfering nurses, his broken bones suddenly seemed like a much bigger problem.

"Here," Finn said, a smile creeping onto his face—the asshole. He knew what Caleb was thinking about, and he was just going to be nice about it, instead of rubbing it in that Caleb had been a jerk about it to him. He scooted backward, then laid down with his head propped up on the pillows. He held up his hands. "Just lean back. I've got you."

Caleb held his breath while Finn lowered him backward to lay beside him. He released it with a moan when he was finally down, pressing his hand over his side. In the future, he was going to avoid things like poking holes in his lung.

"I'm sorry, Caleb," Finn whispered. His breath tickled in Caleb's hair. It made him shiver, and that made him wince and clutch even harder at his ribs. "Oh, god, I'm sorry."

"If you ever apologize again, I'm going to break your nose," Caleb growled, trying to get comfortable. It was more than just a little weird to be the one being held instead of the one doing the holding. But it was probably good for Finn, and Caleb needed something to lay on so he didn't roll over on his injuries.

Finn laughed, and the vibration in his chest resonated against Caleb's side as he turned to rest against him. He suppressed another shiver. "Tanya said you'd say that."

"You're getting awfully close to Tanya, aren't you?"

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Yes," he muttered, closing his eyes and burying his face in the objectionable purple shirt. "You're going to make my life hell forever."

"Mmm," was Finn's sleepy response. Hah. He knew Finn was tired. "Forever?"

"You going somewhere?"

"No."

"Good. I'm not, either."

"I know. Shh. Sleep."

"S'what I said. Dumbass . . ."

* * *

"Well, that is just nauseating," Yvonne pronounced as she closed the door.

"Yes, it is," Susan agreed.

"It's adorable," Tanya objected.

"Should we wake them up? They've been asleep for hours," Lee spoke up.

"Let them sleep," Yvonne said. "I'd rather have this conversation while Caleb is unconscious and unable to harm me."

It was noted that no one believed Caleb was too incapacitated to cause harm. Although it was hard to believe he was capable of violence when he was all cuddled up in Finn's arms like that.

"Are you here to tell us we're evicted?" Lee asked nervously.

Yvonne smiled at him. "Actually, I came by to tell you that you aren't."

"Oh. Huh?"

"You see, this man Arthur Ortega called the office a few weeks ago. He was trying to get information about you boys. Molly knew something was fishy, so she gave him over to me. I didn't know exactly who he was, but I could tell he was trying to make trouble for Finn. So I took down all the pertinent information and informed him that I was taking out a restraining order on him. He was served with the papers, it's on record. He knew that it was illegal for him to set foot on my property."

"Well," Susan said. "That _is_ helpful. Thank you."

"I thought any little bit would help your case."

"Indeed," Amy mused.

"But why didn't you say anything before?" Lee blurted out.

"I assumed that if Finn had wanted me to know about his connection to Mr. Ortega, he'd have mentioned him to me," Yvonne said smoothly, one eyebrow going high.

It was a reasonable explanation, and the fact that she'd gone out of her way to come here and help them was really nice. But this wasn't the first time she'd known too much and kept it to herself. It left Lee wondering something disturbing. What _else_ did Yvonne know?


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Or, an Epilogue

_June 12__th_

". . . but Tom really wants to work for the governor, so he decided to apply at all the offices around the state. He hopes he can find a job with the one here in the city, but he doesn't know yet. I—I haven't told Lee. I was going to, but—" Sara broke off, hanging her head.

"—but then it hasn't been a good time to bring up something like that," Tanya finished for her, her hands tugging at Sara's clothes. "There. What do you think?" Sara turned to look in the mirror, and she gasped in delight. "Oh, Tanya!"

After months of watching her looks fade and feeling just as ugly as she did sick, Sara had almost ceased to care. But Tanya had noticed, and had asked permission to do a little fashion experiment. Sara had always preferred baby doll t-shirts and jeans or flirty skirts, and her clothes just made her feel even more painfully skinny and bony.

Her new capris came to a length that she wouldn't have picked if left on her own. But they were the perfect length to disguise the thinness of her legs while still acknowledging summer trends. Tanya had picked up a pink-and-green checked buttoned shirt in a tunic style that fell over her hips. A floppy green sunhat added a playful note to her ever-present headgear, and made her look more lively. In short, Tanya had worked a miracle. Sara felt . . . pretty.

"Thank you," she whispered, fighting back tears and allowing her new friend to pull her into a hug. "Thank you so much."

"It was nothing, I'm just glad you like it."

"I didn't want you to go out of your way for me—"

"Pish-posh. I love doing this. I want to be a fashion designer, silly. I'm just glad you let me dress you up, nobody else lets me anymore."

Tanya was clearly pouting, which dried up Sara's tears and made her laugh.

"Come on," she said, tucking Sara's hand into the crook of her elbow. "Let's go show everyone how beautiful you are. Though it's hardly news to them . . ."

"Oh, stop it," Sara said in exasperation. Tanya hadn't stopped telling her she was beautiful or lovely since their introduction. Apparently Sara was her new muse.

"And now that we know Caleb is going to be all right, you really should sit down with Lee and tell him about Tom's job hunt. The later you leave it, the worse it will be."

Sara's hand tightened on Tanya's arm, and Tanya patted it sympathetically.

They entered the main room of the hotel suite and looked around. Lee was reading a book in a corner while Susan and Amy were each at their own laptop. They both wore a Bluetooth even though neither of them seemed to be talking to anyone at the moment.

"Aren't those boys awake yet?" Tanya asked.

"Oh, they're awake," Susan answered, sounding amused. "I heard them talking. They're just not out of _bed_." She wiggled her eyebrows.

"Susan, gross," Amy said in dismay. "That's our loud-mouthed little brat in there."

"Besides, I really don't think they're ready for that quite yet," Tanya added, seeming to enjoy the way Sara made a beeline for Lee, looking horrified.

Suddenly, they heard raised voices. Well, one raised voice and a soft murmur.

"I do not need _help_ with this!"

Murmuring.

"Then I'll wear sweatpants for the rest of my life!"

Murmuring.

"I am _not_ letting you button my jeans!"

Tanya, Amy, and Susan all laughed, and even Sara giggled. But Lee suddenly shot up from his seat with a look of wide-eyed fury.

"I never thought—" he choked out.

"Lee?" Sara questioned in a tiny voice.

"I will _kill_ Zack Williams," he vowed.

Amy and Susan didn't get it, but from the way Tanya and Sara were laughing, they guessed it was an idle threat.

"I'm calling him right now," Lee said, pulling out his phone, only to have Sara take it from him.

She fixed him with the firmest look she possibly could while laughing. "We're talking about Ril. I'm sure he figured out some way to do it by himself."

"Well . . . Maybe."

"And even if he needed help, it's just _pants_. Zack is his boyfriend, after all."

"Not according to Ril," Lee grumbled, but he was sitting back down.

Sara held out his phone, but didn't drop it into his hand. "Promise you'll leave them alone."

Lee scowled.

"Lee."

"Okay, okay," he said, and put his phone back in his pocket under her watchful eye. As soon as he did, her sunny smile returned, and he grudgingly smiled back. "You look really cute."

She blushed.

The door to the bedroom slammed open, and Caleb shuffled out, heavily favoring his left side and practically igniting the room with the heat of his blush. Finn was close behind him, cheeks pink with amusement. Caleb was, indeed, wearing jeans—with the buttons done up.

"Oh, stop pretending you don't like it, you're not fooling anyone," Amy declared. "Now sit down. We have _a lot_ to go over to prepare for your hearing."

"Do I at least get to have something to eat first?"

"Somebody get food for the grouch, he's busy right now," Susan said, clearly not impressed with his intimidating glower. "Not you, blondie, you're busy, too. Where's other blondie?"

"He went out to get food, remember?" Lee said.

"Oh, right. See, it's already taken care of. Caleb, sit down and repeat after me: 'I am Susan's bitch. I do whatever she says.'"

Caleb glared at her.

* * *

In the end, it wasn't as bad as they'd feared. Caleb was required to do community service, but his parole wasn't going to be monitored. They did perform a second surgery on his elbow, but since the surgery meant he would probably be able to use his hand again, they considered it a good thing. Caleb had been exceedingly unhappy to find out that the hospital bills were coming to Amy and Susan, and they had a very loud argument about that. Tanya won on the women's behalf by the simple expedient of telling Caleb to stop arguing. He had a hard time disobeying her, especially when she told him that they didn't love him any less for living farther away and they still wanted to take care of him when they could.

The three women left once things were settled. Amy had taken Caleb aside and asked him very gently if he wanted to come home with them. He had called her an idiot, Susan had whacked him in the head with a pad of paper and told him to be respectful, then whacked Amy on the arm and told her she _was_ an idiot. Tanya and Sara promised to stay in touch, and Tanya gave Finn a full-on kiss before she left, which made Caleb yell at them. They never could get him to say if he was upset because it was Tanya getting kissed or if it was Finn getting kissed—he would just turn red and start growling when they asked.

Finn had changed. He started acting much more like he had at first, cheerful and full of slightly perverted jokes. But this time, it felt like it was his real self. He admitted that he enjoyed having people to tease and act like an idiot _with_. He wasn't strictly normal, he would never be that, but he was certainly happier. Sebastian said that Finn had been sullen and quiet since childhood, but he liked this version of his twin better.

Sebastian would drive to San Francisco every time he had a day off. He even borrowed his friend Antonio's car so he could bring Bellissima, once. Sara adored the puppy, which made Tom declare that he hated Sebastian and that Sara wouldn't be happy until he got her a dog, now.

But that was because Sara would be going with him when he left. Tom and Yuri had both worked with the job placement office at school so they could begin their careers after graduation. Tom hadn't been able to get the position he wanted with the governor's local office, but he'd landed one at the office in Los Angeles. Yuri was interviewing for a job with the Public Campaign Clean Elections organization that would allow him to work in L.A. They would be moving at the end of July, and Lee was trying desperately not to think about it.

Lee and Finn both managed to get to work on time when they were scheduled, but they barely left the apartment otherwise. The month of June was spent on just being together at home, using laughter to cleanse it of the bad things that had happened. It was usually just the four of them, although Averil, Zack, Sebastian, and even Rob all made appearances from time to time. There was a slightly desperate feeling to the amount of time they spent together. They were waiting for it to end. Lee was scheduled to donate more bone marrow on June 28th, which would give Sara time to receive it and recover before moving. They didn't know what would happen after that.

* * *

_June 23__rd_

Lee walked out of his bedroom, buttoning his vest and hoping to get a ride to work from Finn instead of taking the bus. If Finn would take him, he didn't have to leave for another half an hour. It was Finn's day off, which meant he was in errand-mode, anyway. He'd already gone to the grocery store and taken Caleb to the doctor today to have an x-ray on his ribs. His second surgery had gone really well, but he had to keep the cast for a few more weeks. He'd gone to his room to sleep when he got home, since the pain in his arm sometimes kept him up at night.

Finn was sitting on the couch, reading something. It looked like a letter. Lee saw that Finn's shoulders were shaking, and he hurried forward with alarm.

"Finn? What's wrong?"

Finn wordlessly handed him the letter, disguising the evidence of his crying by covering his face with his hands.

"Been accepted . . . Notre Dame? Wow, Finn. That's great. This is for your doctorate, right? The Medieval Studies program at Notre Dame is supposed to be _amazing_."

"It's in Indiana," Finn gasped. "I don't _want_ to move to Indiana anymore."

"Oh. Right."

Lee suddenly felt sick at heart. Sara was leaving, and Finn was leaving, and that meant Caleb was leaving . . . He would still have Ril, but his brother had his own life now. Speaking of brothers, how devastated was Sebastian going to be when he found out Finn was leaving so soon after they'd found one another?

"I'm not going."

"What? Of _course_ you're going. Finn, you can't _not go_ to the doctoral program at Notre Dame . . . You know Caleb's going with you, right?"

Finn uncovered his face to give Lee a watery smile. "Yes, but—"

"Maybe— maybe I could come, too."

"What?"

Lee blushed, because it was still weird to think about how close he'd gotten to his roommates, but the idea of being on his own here was terrifying. He'd do it if he had to, because he was tough and he always survived, but . . .

"Sara's moving, and I—"

Finn smiled softly and took Lee's face in his hands for a moment. "I understand."

Uh, okay, Finn was holding his face. That was a weird thing to do, but it actually just felt comforting. Finn really did act like he was Lee's mother sometimes.

"We'll talk about it later tonight, okay?"

"Okay."

Finn suddenly frowned at the front door. "Is someone standing outside?"

"Huh?"

"I thought I just heard somebody coughing. We're all the way at the end of the hall . . ."

So if anybody was out there, it meant they were there to see someone in this apartment or the one next door. Why they were hanging around out there coughing instead of knocking on the door was a mystery. After everything that had happened, Lee was inclined to be suspicious. He yanked open the front door.

He instantly recognized the man who stood there. He'd seen photos. The man looked older and thinner, true, but it was obviously him.

"Oh, uh, hello," the man stammered. He was clutching a piece of paper, his hand shaking so that it made the paper flutter. Lee still managed to see that it was an address, presumably the address for Tom and Yuri's apartment. "Do you— do you know if they're home?"

"They're not, actually. Sara had a doctor's appointment today."

"O— Oh. I heard . . . They said she'd been ill, but they didn't know what . . ."

"You're Franklin Court, right?"

"Yes. Do you know Sara, then?"

"I'm Lee Reed," he said, holding out his hand. Mr. Court took it and shook hands with him, still looking very confused. "Sara's very important to me, actually. You'd better come inside. I have to get going soon, I have to work, but I'll tell you what's been going on." He led him inside. "Finn, this is Franklin Court, Tom and Sara's dad."

Finn's eyes widened.

"I guess he should wait here for them, if you don't mind. When they get home, try to keep Tom from killing him, okay? Sara would be pretty upset."

Mr. Court looked back and forth between them with growing shock.

"I can't afford to miss work, but Finn can get you up to speed if I can't. The thing is, your daughter got diagnosed with leukemia back in January . . ."

* * *

Molly and Mike stared at Yvonne in shock.

"Auntie, you should have told us," Molly whispered.

Yvonne took a calm sip of her tea. "It didn't seem like the right time. I wasn't even sure at first."

"Okay, but, Aunt Yvonne," Mike said helplessly.

"I figured it out when I watched him working here. There's just certain things about him that made it clear. And really, you two could have figured it out on your own, so don't blame me. I had to work it out for myself."

The three of them sat silently at the kitchen table for a few minutes, while the siblings tried to wrap their minds around what they'd been told. Yvonne waited patiently. It was true that she hadn't been sure, and also true that the timing had always seemed wrong. It was just beginning to seem like a good moment. But Mike really shouldn't have brought Molly to this confrontation, she didn't seem to be taking it well. She was awfully pale, and with her penchant for bleaching the colour out of her hair, it made her look almost ill.

Apparently Mike was thinking the same thing. "You've really got to stop doing this to your hair," he said, tugging at the pixie cut teasingly. "White just does not look good on you."

She stuck out her tongue at him, by reflex if nothing else. They got along surprisingly well for siblings, Yvonne had always been grateful for that, but they still had their little rivalries.

"Should we tell them, Aunt Yvonne?"

"I really don't know," she said with a wistful smile. "I suppose I should leave it up to you two. You're not children anymore, and it's technically your decision to make. The only thing I'll say is that since we don't know where he is, I don't think it would be so bad to tell them."

Mike nodded thoughtfully. They all knew he would be the one to make the decision, and Molly would go along with him.

The shop bell rang. Yvonne assumed that Averil had accidentally left something here and was returning for it. The timing was nothing if not fate. They could just tell him now, if that's what Mike wanted. It would be difficult to disguise that they were talking about something serious, anyway. But when Averil didn't come straight to the kitchen, Yvonne got up. A customer? That was odd, it was getting rather late.

Then she saw him, and she realized that fate truly did have a sense of humour.

The light was dim, and caught only certain points of the man's profile, highlighting them as though these details were the only important ones about him. He stood in the doorway with a casual-but-elegant slouch, hands in his pockets. The light caught the scattering of silver in his otherwise black hair, which was pulled back into a long ponytail. It should have communicated rakish charm, but the gleam of light on the glasses he wore added an undertone of absent-minded scholar. Yvonne had never been entirely sure if he did it on purpose or if it was just the way he was.

He raised his head, his lips twisting into a smirk that erased the scholarly note and underlined the rogue. "Hello, Yvonne."

Molly and Mike appeared in the doorway, seeming hesitant for perhaps the first time in their lives. They were holding hands, and their bleached-white and deep-black heads were nearly touching, making them seem strangely reserved and child-like. In other words, nothing like their normal selves. But who could ever be their normal self around a parent?

"Hi, Dad," Molly squeaked.

"Long time, no see," Mike mumbled.

"Long time?" Yvonne repeated in a throaty, dangerous tone. "I suppose ten years _could_ be described that way." She drew herself up with narrowed eyes and looked down at the man standing in her doorway. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you."

His smirk disappeared, and his answering shrug was very humble.

Yvonne was not moved. He'd better be more than just humble. "What are you doing here?"

"I, uh . . ." he looked desperately at his children, who looked back at him gravely. He finally looked at Yvonne again. "I'm back?"

"What makes you think you're welcome here?" she retorted. "You have a _lot_ of apologizing to do, Clarence Reed."

* * *

_Long author's note, which I beg you all to read:_

_What's that? Do I hear you begging for a sequel? Well, I suppose I can oblige since you've all been such nice little review monkeys._

_No, seriously, I'm working on a sequel. Obviously. Averil's storyline will include the mysterious Mr. Clarence Reed, as well as an introduction of Zashiki-warashi and Ame-warashi. Lee and Sara will begin a long-distance relationship, which is sad, but Sara's dad thrown into the mix will be good fun. And now I can finally write all of the lovely KuroFai goodness that the characters were too angsty to allow this time around. And no, I don't mean sex scenes, because it makes me feel like a creepy voyeur. I do love to write incredibly adorable bonding moments, though._

_However, the more I think about it and plan for it, the more I am convinced that Gray and Ian's story is going to take a turn into territory you as the readers may not enjoy. There will be OC's. They will be female. I hear the clamors of protest already, but I would beg you to hold off. The thing is, I have to remain true to the characters, especially the way I have written them to be. I become more and more convinced that these boys are heterosexual and that they are going to end up with very normal lives. Obviously, the women they do end up with are going to have to be very strong, secure individuals, and I would shoot myself before I wrote a Mary Sue. But that's the path I see them taking. Here's the thing: if this would be disappointing to you lot, I don't have to write it (or at least not upload what I write). Averil and Gray are going to continue their friendship, and I can limit the story to Gray's conversations with Averil. But if you WANT to see their story, then I would be thrilled to include it. I love Gray more than I love some of my real friends, and I want to keep going with him._

_Okay. Let's keep things organized, if we can. I would like your opinion on a few things, but I want to ensure it all makes sense. So let's do it like this:_

_1) Your review, if you have one, for the final chapter_

_2) Any thoughts you have on __Freefall__ as a whole_

_3) Any thoughts/suggestions you might have for the sequel_

_4) Your verdict on the Gray & Ian situation (that is, do you want to read their story?)_

_Finally, I would just like to say thank you. Thank you for reading, thank you for reviewing, and thank you for the support you've shown. You are the reason I do what I do._

_~Faren~_


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